Renshaw Fanning's Quest Part 14

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

CATCHING A TARTAR.

"Now, Marian," whispered Renshaw. "This is going to be a life-and-death business, remember. It's them or ourselves. You are sure you have no womanish qualms in favour of 'giving them a chance,' or any madness of that kind?"

"You will see!" was the curt reply, and the tone was sufficient.

"All right. When I say 'Now,' you must let into the fellow I'll point out to you. Use your shot-barrel, remember. I'm going to let them get quite close, and we'll give them a heavy charge of loepers apiece. Then if we get a show we'll follow it up with rifle practice."

She whispered a.s.sent, and for some moments they strained their eyes upon the shade of the outbuildings. Suddenly one dark figure flitted noiselessly out, followed by another and another, till the whole gang were full in sight, advancing in a diagonal line.

"Keep cool, Marian, keep cool," warned Renshaw. "Wait for the word.

They are not nearly close enough yet."

On came the six cut-throats. Two black men led--then a b.e.s.t.i.a.l-looking, undersized Bushman Hottentot; his hideous yellow face, repulsive in the moonlight, cruel, ape-like; his eyes rolling in eager, ferocious expectation of the sanguinary orgy which awaited. The other three were half-bloods. Five of them carried guns, the sixth a pistol. Again Renshaw had done the very best thing he could, in shaping the plan we have heard him lay down.

On they came. Once the leader raised his hand, and all stopped, listening intently. The wild clamour of the dogs still arose in the distance. Rea.s.sured, the scoundrels advanced, swiftly, noiselessly.

Seventy--sixty--fifty--forty yards.

"Ready, Marian! Take the third fellow. Now!"

Crash! Crash!

The double report bellowed forth into the midnight stillness. Mingling with it came a horrid scream. Marian's aim had been true and deadly.

The leader of the gang, a stalwart Kafir--had made one leap into the air and had fallen forward on his face. He lay motionless. Again Renshaw drew trigger, bringing a third man to the gra.s.s, his knee-bone shattered.

Then the unexpected took place. Instead of seeking safety in headlong flight, as the defenders had reckoned, the surviving three rushed madly round to the other side of the house, a bullet from Renshaw's six-shooter failing to stop them.

"Stay here, Marian," whispered the latter hurriedly. "Draw on the first fellow who shows himself." And in a trice he was round to meet the new attack.

What was this? No sign of the enemy. Had they fled?

Suddenly a crash of gla.s.s--a scuffle and a torrent of Dutch curses.

Quickly the position stood revealed.

There stood Gomfana, holding on to a human figure which was half in and half out of the window--head and shoulders through the shattered sash.

He had got the fellow firmly by the neck with one hand, while with the other he was striving all he knew to drag him in by his clothing. But the villain--a stalwart half-breed--was almost too much for the st.u.r.dy young Kafir. The latter would have a.s.segaied him in a moment had he owned three hands. Having but two, however, and these two being required to hold on to his enemy, it was out of the question--but hold on he did.

"Stop struggling or I'll shoot you dead!" said Renshaw, in Dutch, placing the muzzle of his pistol against the man's body. The fellow, thoroughly cowed, obeyed, and Gomfana, with a final effort, hauled him bodily into the room amid a terrific shatter of falling gla.s.s.

"What on earth's the row, Uncle Renshaw?" said a boy's voice.

"Fred, cut away and find a _reim_" Rope is little used in South Africa, its place being supplied by raw hide-thongs termed as above. "Sharp's the word--mind."

In a twinkling the youngster was back with the required article, and almost as quickly Renshaw's ready hand had strapped up the midnight robber so that the latter could not move a limb. Now, all this had happened in far less time than it has taken to narrate.

But there were still two of the scoundrels unaccounted for. That they had not fled Renshaw was certain. And now the dogs, hearing the firing and shouting, and judging the bulk of the fun lay in that direction, abandoned their mysterious quarry and came tearing up open-mouthed.

Then the secret stood explained. The remaining two were crouching beneath some rockwork at one corner of the verandah, presumably following the tactics of the large veldt-spider who when suddenly surprised is apt to run straight in upon the intruder, judging, rightly in the main, that in this position the latter will not be able to crush him.

"Throw down your arms or you are dead men!" cried Renshaw, covering the pair with his barrels.

The fellows, who had just emptied their guns--with small effect, however--among the snarling, leaping, savage pack which had at once a.s.sailed them, did not hesitate a moment. They were the least desperate of the gang, and the fearful execution done among their comrades had struck wholesome terror into themselves. Begging piteously for mercy, they shambled forth and submitted to being duly secured.

No sooner was this effected than a sharp report rang out in the room where Marian had been posted. Promptly gaining the spot, Renshaw found that the shot had not been fired by her, but by small Basil Selwood.

"Why, what are you blazing at, Basil? Those chaps are safely winged, if they're not dead."

"Are they? That black chap was trying to cut away on two hands and a leg," answered the youngster. "I thought I'd stop that. But I didn't hit him," he added candidly.

"I must go and see to them. You and Fred must mount guard over the prisoners, and send Gomfana to me."

Accompanied by the young Kafir, Renshaw sallied forth. The dogs had already pounced upon the wounded Bushman, and in another minute would have worried him to death. Game to the last, however, the ferocious ruffian had fired among them, killing one, and but for the fact that his gun was empty would have fired upon his human rescuers. Investigation showed that he was badly wounded in both legs, notwithstanding which, well knowing the desperate hardihood of the race, Renshaw deemed it necessary to bind his hands. The other wounded man, a Kafir, had also a broken leg. He, however, realising how thoroughly the odds were against him, submitted sullenly to the inevitable. The sixth and last, he who had led the gang, was stone dead, shot through the heart. Renshaw turned the body over. The empty eye-socket and the brutal pock-marked features seemed distorted in a fiend-like leer beneath the moonlight.

Renshaw had no difficulty in recognising the description of the Kafir, Muntiwa.

Meanwhile, how had the non-combatants been faring? Mrs Selwood, having armed herself with a double gun, had retired to her children's room, resolved that her post was there. She had taken Violet with her, and the latter had fallen into a fit of terror that was simply uncontrollable. The crash of the firearms, the dread lull intervening, the subdued anxious voices of the defenders, the terrible suspense, had all been too much for her; nor could the rea.s.surances of her hostess, or even the example of pluck shown by the child Effie, avail to allay her fears. Finally, she went off into a dead swoon.

As for the two youngsters, Fred and Basil, the prevailing idea in their minds was one of unqualified disgust at not having been allowed to take part in the fight from the very beginning.

"Why didn't you call us, Uncle Renshaw?" was their continual cry. "We'd have knocked fits out of those _schelms_. Wouldn't we just!"

"You bloodthirsty young ruffians! You have plenty of time before you for that sort of thing, and you'll have plenty of opportunities for getting and giving hard knocks by the time you get to my age," he would reply good-humouredly. But the youngsters only shook their heads with expressions of the most intense disappointment and disgust.

Not much sleep for the household during the remainder of that night.

Renshaw found his time and his vigilance fully occupied in attending to the security of his prisoners, and doing what he could for the wounded.

The fellows, for their part, were disposed to accept the inevitable, and make the best of the situation. They were bound to be hanged anyhow, though in his secret heart each man hoped that his life might be spared.

Meanwhile, it was better to enjoy good rations than bad ones, and to that end it was as well to conciliate the _Baas_; and Renshaw had no difficulty, accordingly, in getting at the story of the attack.

Of course, each swore he was not the instigator; of course, each laid the blame on the dead man, Muntiwa. He was the prime mover in the enterprise. He had a grudge against the _Baas_ who lived there, and as they all stood and fell together they had been obliged to help him in his scheme of plunder. Of course, too, each and all were ready to swear that plunder was their only object. They would not have harmed anybody, not they; no, not for all the world. Thus the three half-breeds. But Booi, the Kafir, volunteered no statement whatever, and Klaas Baartman, the Bushman Hottentot, savagely declared that he had intended to cut the throat of every woman and child on the place. The seventh of the gang, who was still at large, having no firearm, had been posted under the willows to draw off the dogs--even as Renshaw had conjectured.

Asked whether they knew the _Baas_ of the place was absent, they replied that one of them had been watching and had seen unmistakable signs that this was the case. The rest of the gang had watched the main road, and when Renshaw had pa.s.sed they had intended to let him go by unmolested, so as to render more complete their projected surprise, and would have, but for the indiscretion of one of their number--of course the man who had not been captured.

In the morning, opportunely enough, a posse of Mounted Police arrived--a sergeant and three troopers. They had been patrolling the mountains on the lookout for this very gang, and had fallen in with some natives who declared they had heard distant firing in the direction of Sunningdale.

Thither therefore they had ridden with all possible speed.

"Well, Mr Fanning--I wish I had had your luck--that's all," said the sergeant--while doing soldier's justice to the succulent breakfast set before them. "You've captured the whole gang, single-handed, all but one, that is, and we are sure to have him soon."

"I wish you had, sergeant, if it would hurry on your sub-inspectorship,"

said Renshaw, heartily--"But I must take exception to your word 'single-handed,' I don't know what I should have done without Miss Selwood."

Whereat the sergeant, who, like many another man serving in the Mounted Police in those days, was a gentleman by birth, and who moreover had been casting many an admiring glance at Marian, turned to the latter with the most gracefully worded compliment he could muster. But, Marian herself was somewhat unresponsive. She could shoot people, if put to it, but her preferences were all the other way. As it was she was heartily thankful she had not killed the man, and that his wounds were not mortal.

"I'm afraid he'll only recover for Jack Ketch, then, Miss Selwood,"

rejoined the sergeant. "They're all booked for the 'drop,' to a dead certainty, for that other affair. What? Hadn't you heard of it?"

And then came out the story of the wholesale butchery in which these miscreants had been concerned. There was no difficulty whatever as to providing their ident.i.ty. The Government rifles, stolen from the convict guards when these were overpowered, spoke for themselves. And with the horror of the recital vanished the reactionary glow of pity which had begun to agitate the feminine breast on behalf of the prisoners. Hanging was too good for such a set of fiends.