The Golden Rock Part 56

The monotonous strain rose and fell on the heavy air, a sickly vapour sifted in through the cracks in the wall, suspense gave way before the torture of thirst which suddenly a.s.sailed them, and Klaas shouted out to the unseen foes to come and kill him. The music rose to a wail as if in mockery, then receded, grew fainter, died away, was heard again from another point, grew nearer, retreated again, until even Sirayo's iron nerves broke down under the irritation as he shouted hoa.r.s.ely.

Suddenly, without sound or notice, the pa.s.sage was darkened by the form of an old woman, black and withered. She looked at the prostrate captives with a mingling of fear and rage, but they looked not at her, but at a calabash poised on her head, on which glittered a few precious drops of water. Was this to be another mode of torture? No, she moved timidly forward, lifted her calabash from her head, while they followed her movements with glittering eyes, then shot a cooling stream into each mouth gaping wide to receive it. Then the old witch stood there talking pa.s.sionately, stretching her skinny arms, pointing now to the pa.s.sage, then at the broad trail of the python.

"Silence," said Sirayo, "bring someone here who can listen as well as talk."

She shook her lean hand in his face until the bones cracked, then shuffled out, still shrilly grumbling.

"I am past all feeling of curiosity," groaned Webster, as his eyes shifted uneasily round the room; "but I should like to know two things: why that old woman has been cursing us after giving us water, and what became of the snake." He turned his head to scan the wall. "I have a strange feeling in my bones," he said with a shudder, "that those evil eyes are still fixed upon me!"

Laura shuddered, too, violently, and her dark eyes, looking unnaturally large and bright, glanced about restlessly. "I hope this will soon end," she whispered.

"Good G.o.d!" groaned Hume; "if I could only see!"

They lapsed once more into silence, and listened again to the wailing of the native instrument, heard a sudden outbreak, the sharp crack of rifles, the shouts of men, the wild din of battle.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

DEFENDING THE Pa.s.sAGE.

Unmistakably the sounds of battle. The small Zulu force of marauders must have come into collision with the people of the valley. It had happened as Hume had said, up to a certain point; but that point left them very far short of the possibility of taking advantage of the fight.

Whether the Zulus conquered or were defeated, the result could matter little to the prisoners in the ruined chamber.

They heard, without hope as without fear, the roar of the distant fighting, but what affected them keenly was the wailing of the native music, which all along continued to send forth its monotonous cry. They could not understand what was meant by this persistent sound, having in it a wild note of appeal, but they felt it had a closer bearing on their lives than the din of battle.

Presently, however, they became aware that the fight was coming nearer.

They heard shrill whistling, the occasional sharp crack of a rifle, the deep shouts of individual warriors, and the loud, continuous roar of conflict.

It was evident that one party must be in retreat, but fighting stubbornly.

"The Zulus are getting the worst of it," muttered Hume.

"If we were only free!" growled Webster, and he made a violent struggle to release his hands.

"The shouts of victory," said Sirayo, "are from the Zulus."

"The fight is coming this way rapidly. The retreating party will surely make a stand in these ruins, and then--"

"And then we'll be put out of our misery."

Louder and fiercer grew the shouts; but through it all pierced the thin music, and it, too, came nearer, shrill and despairing--now nearer, until the musician himself appeared at the door--a wild figure tricked out with bones and teeth, feathers, and whisps of hair. He stood there glaring at them a minute like a wild beast; then dashing his reed instrument to the ground with a yell of rage, he grasped a small battle-axe that hung from his waist, and flourishing it about, poured out a flood of denunciation, exactly as the old woman had done.

"Good heavens above," growled Webster, "to be sworn at by a thing like that."

There came a wild yell of terror from beyond the walls, a cry several times repeated, there was a rush of many feet, and the triumphant shout of victory from the pursuers.

"Yoh!" said Sirayo, while a sudden light leapt to his eyes.

The musician was also affected. His eyes rolled, his lips foamed, and with a scream he rushed forward.

"Hold!" shouted Sirayo in Zulu.

The man stood with his axe poised and glared at the chief.

"You have lost your familiar, your protecting spirit, the great snake!"

The native gnashed his teeth and howled in his fury: "Killed! They have slain it, and now our nation is doomed; but you who caused this shall not escape."

"Fool! Would you destroy your friends? The snake itself fled, though we were bound, because our fetish is more powerful."

The native dropped his arm, and looked half terrified at the eyes that were fixed upon him by the silent and helpless group.

There was a sound of men climbing the wall, of metal striking against the rocks, of the Zulu war-shout, ringing loud above the despairing cries of their defeated foes.

"Release us, dog, before it is too late!" cried Sirayo hoa.r.s.ely, while the blood, rushing to his eyes, gave them an awful appearance, as he glared at the now cowed native.

A man appeared at the door panting, streaming with blood, a broken feather drooping from his hair. He staggered into the room, and, as he advanced, the first native grovelled at his feet, sobbing.

Sirayo thrust out his hands, calling out: "Cut these; the Zulus are our enemies."

The new-comer brushed his hand across his brow and flicked the blood from his fingers.

"Who are you?"

"A chief, like you. Quick--cut; we can save you."

There was a fall of stones, the Zulu cry rose within the walls. The wounded man, stooping, severed the tough rheims with the sharp blade of his stabbing a.s.segai, then drew it across the thongs about the ankles.

Sirayo paused a moment to rub his arms, then, rising up, s.n.a.t.c.hed the battle-axe from the still grovelling native and reached the door. A moment later the blade descended with a crashing blow upon the head of a Zulu who was rushing in. Stooping, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the shield from the dead man, and forced his wounded arm through the band. Up the narrow pa.s.sage, with eyes gleaming, with a low moaning noise, came a second Zulu. Without a pause he rushed forward, stepped, unheeding, on the quivering body, then bounded at Sirayo. The fierce onset drove the giant warrior back a few feet, but his shield received the thrust, then he struck so fiercely that the blade remained fixed in the skull, and the handle was torn from his grasp by the fall of the stricken man.

"Mawoh, oh chief, a stroke for an ox!" came from behind, and Sirayo saw the Gaika at his side.

"There is not room for two," said the chief, as with his toes he grasped the haft of an a.s.segai and lifted it to his hand. "See to the others."

"They are free, but they cannot yet stand, their flesh being too soft, and not of iron, like yours." The Gaika stooped and pulled the battle-axe from the skull.

"Give me room," growled Sirayo, and Klaas, looking under the chief's arm, saw three Zulus standing in the pa.s.sage. He drew back a step, and rubbing his hand in the sand, took a firmer grip of the handle.

The Zulus stood awhile, with their nostrils quivering at the scent of blood, and their eyes gleaming with satisfaction to think that one of the fugitives had courage to face them. They did not know it was a warrior from the famous fighting stock of their own nation; but they feared nothing now.

"To the good death!" cried the first man, and advanced alone, pausing to roll the dead body against the wall. Then he balanced a throwing a.s.segai, and launched it. The narrow blade struck Sirayo's shield full, pa.s.sed through the tough hide, pierced the forearm of the chief, and struck against his ribs.

"A good throw," said the chief, and bounding forward, drove in his a.s.segai under his opponent's arm before he could raise his shield. The warrior reeled--then sunk to the ground.

"To the good death!" cried the second Zulu, bounding forward at once, and hurling himself on Sirayo; he grasped the haft of the a.s.segai that still protruded from the shield, and pushed fiercely at it. The chief slipped and fell backwards, and with a hoa.r.s.e shout of triumph the enemy lifted his arm to plunge his weapon into the broad and naked breast.

With an answering shout the Gaika hurled his battle-axe. It struck the Zulu on the temple and flew high into the air. The man himself fell with his hands outspread upon Sirayo, and before the chief could struggle to his feet the third Zulu, whirling a heavy k.n.o.b-kerrie, rushed to avenge the death of his comrades. Sirayo, by a herculean effort, raised the dead body as a shield, warding off the furious blow, then, seizing his a.s.sailant by the leg, he hurled him against the wall, when the warrior, shaken by the grim and blood-stained figure that rose to confront him, turned and fled with a cry of "Sirayo." Each separate duel had followed with breathless rapidity, and the chief, exhausted by his morning's fast and suffering from the second wound in his left arm, leant dizzy and faint against the wall, his lips still curling from his white teeth.