In the Whirl of the Rising Part 29

A GRIM RUNNING FIGHT.

Once clear of Gandela, Lamont had subsided into moody silence. Only the eager glow in his eyes, as he sent his horse along at a brisk pace at the head of his troop, told how his thoughts were working. At present they held but two considerations--a vivid picture of the horror he had witnessed and the torturing fear lest he should be too late to prevent a repet.i.tion of it. No, that contingency would not bear contemplation, and all unconsciously he urged his horse on to greater speed, till at last something of a murmur arose from one or two of his followers.

"We shall bust our horses if we stretch them out like this at the start."

He looked round.

"Oh no, we shan't. And every moment may make all the difference."

What was it that rendered his every thought a keen torture? Had it been a case of rescuing from horrible danger any other two women in the township, would he have been so eager? Yes, he would. He could safely say that. But he would not have suffered from this overweighting, distracting apprehension begotten of the knowledge that one of these two was Clare Vidal.

But if his chief for the time being was silent, the same could not be said of Peters. For Peters was giving a graphic account of all that had befallen, and especially was he graphic on the barbarous ma.s.sacre of the Tewson family. His object was to inflame the minds of these men, to work them up to a very fever-heat of desire for revenge; thus would each man feel endowed with the strength and bravery of six, and they would need it too, for after all their force was a puny one--yes, a very puny one, considering the overwhelming odds they would almost certainly have to encounter.

They made Langrishe's Store in fine time, but--where was Langrishe? No answer was returned to their loud, impatient hail. He could not be away, for the door was half open. Some opined that he was probably drunk, but to two there, at any rate, that silence bore an ominous similarity to that which had signalled their approach to another homestead only yesterday morning. The solution was somewhat startling.

From the partly open door half a dozen armed savages shot forth, and darted for the nearest bush with inconceivable swiftness.

But not one of them was destined to reach it. A perfect howl of rage went up from the spectators, and waiting for no word of command a dozen hors.e.m.e.n were on the heels of the fugitives, who were shot down to a man. It was all over in a moment.

"Loosen girths everyone and water the horses while we investigate,"

ordered Lamont. "No time to off-saddle."

It was even as they had dreaded. Lying behind the counter of his store was the body of poor Langrishe, the skull battered in, the clothing riddled with a.s.segai cuts, but the body was still quite warm. Bales and cases, and goods of every description, were piled and heaped about in the last degree of confusion. The murderers had obviously been too busy looting to hear the approach of the party and so secure their own safety in time. The wrath of the latter found vent in bitter curses, and blood-curdling promises of vengeance upon the whole Matabele race.

But the ride had been a forced and a hot one, eke a dusty one and a dry.

One of the men came forward.

"Captain," he said, with a glance at the bar shelves, "some of us are thinking that while the horses are resting a tot all round wouldn't hurt us any. Might buck us up a bit, and it's mortal dry."

"Yes; that's right," said Lamont. "But--only one, mind. We mustn't overdo it, for we shall have all our work cut out for us."

The said tot having been served out to all hands, and the party having requisitioned some of poor Langrishe's biscuit in case of accidents--for they had set forth none too well provisioned--the body of the unfortunate storekeeper was left locked up within his own house. Girths were tightened, and the road was resumed.

The fresh spoor of the mule-waggon and the police horses was plain enough in the dry, powdery road, but the rapidity of their pace underwent no diminution. But, like those they followed, they were disgusted to find Skrine's Store shut up and deserted. Equally, with those they followed, they did not discover the remains of the luckless Skrine and his unknown companions, lying murdered in the bush.

Again girths were loosened for a bare five minutes, and again they cantered forward. And now hopes began to rise. They had covered about half the stage to the Kezane Store. It was late in the afternoon, and Fullerton's party would be sure to sleep there. They might have to stand a siege there, but that was safety itself compared with being attacked in the open. Then, just as this hope had become almost a certainty, there occurred that which brought a quick exclamation to every mouth. Right ahead on the smooth still air, distant and m.u.f.fled came the dull rattle of a volley.

"Great Jupiter! they're attacked," cried Lamont, putting his horse to a gallop. "Come on, Peters. Come on everybody. For G.o.d's sake, put your best foot forward!"

No need was there for this exhortation. Tingling with excitement every man was sending his steed along for all he knew how--those who were the most indifferently mounted slashing and spurring and cursing. And if any additional stimulant were needed the sound of further firing in front went far to supply it.

"It won't be far beyond here," yelled Peters, as they tore through the entrance to the bushy valley, where the fight at close quarters had first commenced. And, even as he spoke, more shots rang out, this time very near indeed, and with them mingled the roars and hisses of the attacking Matabele. Only a bend in the road hid from them the scene of action.

"Come on, boys!" shouted Lamont, half turning in his saddle. "You'll know what to do when you see what's going on."

A minute later, and they did see, and what they saw was this. The waggon was at a standstill. The two leading mules were down--one motionless, the other struggling and kicking frantically. Of the police escort half had been killed, and the remnant, now dismounted, were standing, back to the waggon on either side, with revolver pointed, facing a swarm of dark leaping figures, closing in more and more, uttering their vibrating war-hiss, yet still not quite liking to face those deadly revolvers.

"Charge!" shouted Lamont. "Divide. Half of us each side."

With a wild, roaring cheer the men spurred forward. The a.s.sailants did not wait. Uttering loud cries of warning and dismay they fled helter-skelter for more secure cover, and not all reached it, for the irresistible impetus of their charge had carried the rescuers right in among the discomfited Matabele, whom they shot down right and left, well-nigh at point-blank.

"Quick, some of you cut loose those mules," ordered Lamont. "Steele, you're a good man at that sort of thing. Three, all told, will be enough."

In a trice the two wounded leaders were cut loose, the one still kicking being given its quietus. Wyndham, the while, kept to his business as driver with an unswerving attention that no temptation to bear a hand in the fight caused him to lose sight of for a moment, and in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time the reduced team was on the move again.

Lamont's glance took in Clare Vidal's pale, set face with a glow of indescribable relief. She was uninjured, and he noted further that she gripped the revolver he had given her as though she had been using it.

She, for her part, was fully appraising this man, whom last she had seen cool, indifferent, rather cynical. Now--grimy, unshaven, fierce-eyed-- he was all fire and energy, and she noted further that he seemed in every way as one born to command. The alacrity with which the others sprang to execute his orders did not escape her either--even Jim Steele, whose ambition the other day had been to punch his head.

"Get your mules along as quick as you can, Wyndham," he said. "We must be a good hour from the Kezane, and when these devils discover we are not the advance guard of a bigger force they'll make it lively for us again."

One more quick look, and that was all, then his attention was turned solely and entirely to the matter in hand. Clare Vidal read that look, and was perchance satisfied; anyhow she regarded him--grimy, unshaven, fierce-eyed--with an admiration she had never felt for any living man.

The 'coward'! she said to herself--the man whom her brother-in-law and others had described as a funkstick.

"See here, Lamont," now sung out Fullerton. "I'm going to get on one of those police horses and help in this racket. I'm dead sick of sitting here."

For two of the horses of the fallen troopers had been brought on and were being led by the survivors.

"All right. There'll be no harm in that. Miss Vidal, you'd better get into the back of the waggon and let down the sail. We haven't done with the enemy yet--and you won't be such a conspicuous mark when he comes on again."

For a moment Clare was about to object. But she said--

"Do you really wish me to?"

"Certainly I do."

Then she complied without another word.

"Cheer up, Lucy, we are safe now," she said to her sister. "Mr Lamont has come up just in the nick of time."

"The nick of time indeed," was the shuddering answer. "If he hadn't we should have been dead by now." And she shivered again.

"A miss is as good as a mile, Mrs Fullerton," said Wyndham cheerily.

"That was a near thing, but our time hasn't come yet. Gee-yup!"

He had managed to knock a sort of jaded amble out of the dispirited mules. The relieving force, divided into two, was advancing through the bush and long gra.s.s on either side of the waggon--in open skirmishing order: Peters, by tacit consent, being in virtual command of one. Every man was keenly on the alert, and the faintest movement in the gra.s.s or bush would bring rifle or pistol to the ready.

"Lamont," said Fullerton gravely, as they thus moved forward, "I don't want to go through such another experience. That's the very closest thing I've ever been in or ever expect to be. It'd have been bad enough, but the consciousness that the wife and Clare were in for it too--eugh! it was awful! And _you_ got us out."

Lamont frowned.

"You'll excuse my saying so, Fullerton, but how you could be such a bedevilled idiot as to start across country at this time of day, with two helpless women and a handful of police, bangs me I own."

"Helpless women!" echoed Fullerton. "Not much of the 'helpless' woman about Clare, I can tell you. Why, she accounted for more n.i.g.g.e.rs than I did, with that pistol you gave her. But why didn't you warn us if you were in the know?"

"I did, and n.o.body more than half believed me--some not even that."

"I know now what you did on the day of the race meeting, Lamont," said Fullerton gravely. "I consider we all owe our lives to you, and I, for one, want to apologise sincerely for having misunderstood you--"

But his words were cut short. Lamont had risen in his stirrups and, swift as thought, discharged his revolver. Fullerton had a quick glancing vision of the head and shoulders of a savage twenty yards distant above the tall gra.s.s, and of the flinging aloft of black hands, and the upturned roll of white eyeb.a.l.l.s, as, struck full and fair in the chest, the warrior fell backward with a crash. At the same time the hum of missiles overhead, and the report of firearms--but--not those of the force.