"But, can you leave him--them?" I urged.

Was it a laugh--blood-curdling, maniacal--or was it the snarl of a bereaved wild beast?

"We can leave them--now," she said. "First--justice. The justice of revenge. Come."

Gaining her saddle without my aid she led the way from that evil and accursed spot. But it was the opposite way to that by which we had come. She uttered no word. But the positions were reversed now. She led, and I followed--wondering.

We reached the high ridge at the head of the kloof, then descended into the valley wherein, much higher up, the house stood. This we left, and, crossing the valley, ascended by a steep track to a high "neck" which cleft the heights on the further side. We had by this time been riding for nearly an hour.

Now, as we halted to breathe our horses, and sat in our saddles, gazing forth upon the more open country beyond, before us the shadowy veldt, stretching away into moonlit dimness, was lit up here and there in the distance by twinkling points of light, over which hung a misty glow.

These were the fires in the Ndhlambe location, whence, ever and again, in humming waves of sound, came a weird rhythmical chant, to a strange stamping accompaniment, varied by the howling of dogs or the faint shrill laughter of women. The savages were enjoying themselves in uproarious merrymaking.

No word had Beryl uttered all this time, but now she spoke, and the words which she did say fairly startled me, for they were of such import that I knew the chances were as fifty to one against either or both of us living to see the light of another day. She read off my thoughts as in a flash.

"Do not let me take you into this, Kenrick. After all, there is a risk.

I can bring it off alone."

"Do be just to me, dear," I said gently, putting forth my hand till it rested on hers. "Do you think the idea of deserting you ever crossed my mind for the single fraction of an instant? It was of you I was thinking. Now listen. Leave this to me. I will do exactly what you have been planning--I alone. I will carry it out to the letter. Life is nothing to me--forgive me for speaking selfishly at such a time. Go back to--to them. I pledge you my word of honour and my life that I will do all you would have done. But you?--you must not embark in such an undertaking as this. Now--will you leave it to me?"

"No--a thousand times no. Kenrick, you are loyal and brave as few men are. Pardon my doubting you, or seeming to, for I never did so really."

In spite of the grief and woe which had come upon us, of the desperate undertaking to which we were pledged, a thrill of genuine exaltation set my pulses tingling at her words, her tone. We were close together. Our horses, glad of even this temporary rest, were standing still. I was going into almost certain death--with her, and I would not have exchanged the situation for any other on earth. A wild, well-nigh uncontrollable impulse seized me. Her great eyes were turned full upon mine, and the pallid hardness of her face seemed to relax. Then the recollection of what had happened, of what we had just looked upon, came back and I mastered the impulse. a.s.suredly if there was a time for all things this was not a time for some things--yet I read a meaning into a strange weary sigh that escaped her, as she gave the word to resume our way.

The Ndhlambe huts, beehive-shaped, yellow-thatched, lay cl.u.s.tering in the moonlight, spreading over the veldt far and wide. Innumerable they seemed, and from the dark, mimosa-stockaded enclosures came now and then a bleat, or the trumpet-like sneeze of a goat, and the sweet night air was unfragrant with the mingled odour of kine and wood smoke, and the musty reek of ochre-smeared Kafir humanity.

Most of the merrymakers had departed to their own kraals, but here and there, in that of the chief, dark groups still stood around. These gazed, with muttered wonder, upon this strange apparition of two white people riding into their midst at such a time of night, and one of those whites a woman. Formidable, too, they looked, those astonished and staring savages, many of them tall, well-nigh gigantic of frame, and you could see the rolling white of their distended eyeb.a.l.l.s as they stood and gazed.

"Where is Kuliso? Where is the chief?"

The tone was firm, clear, audible to all. The Kafirs looked at each other.

"_Au_! That is his house, _Umlungase_," [white woman] and the speaker pointed to a large hut standing among a group. "But--it is night."

"Request him to come forth. I would talk with him," went on Beryl, speaking fluently in the vernacular, of which I, as I have before mentioned, had by this time picked up a very fair knowledge.

There was hesitation, muttered dissatisfaction, among the men, as we turned and headed straight for the hut they had pointed out, they following a short distance behind. The chief did not care to see visitors at such a time, was the not unnatural burden of their objections.

But just then two Kafirs emerged from one of the huts, and stood in front of us. One of them I recognised, and even were it otherwise the murmur of astonishment and profound deference which greeted his appearance would have been sufficient to identify him. The tall, fine form, the strong, bearded face, the lofty forehead with its air of command, I was not likely to forget. Now the expression of that face was divided between wonder and a scowl of resentment. Then Beryl spoke.

"I see you, Kuliso. What is the news, Kuliso?"

"_Whau_!" cried the chief, bringing his hand to his mouth in displeased amazement. "What is this? What does it mean?"

"This," said Beryl, covering him with her revolver. "Walk, Kuliso.

Walk in front of me."

Then indeed the chief's exclamation of amazement was emphatic, and was echoed by those gathered around. A command--addressed to him! To _him_--and by a woman! But that unerring revolver covered him, and the skill of this particular woman was known to him--was known to most of those present. There was no escape; and again that word--this time shorter and more crisp--

"Walk, Kuliso!"

The chief stared--stared at the deadly weapon--stared at the face behind it. Then he--walked.

I, too, looked at that face. The large eyes shone from its hard, deadly whiteness, with a fell and appalling stare. Could this be the face whose sunny, equable sweetness had captured my heart, and held it? Now it was as the face of a fiend--a ruthless, unswerving, vengeful fiend.

Seeing it thus, I scarcely wondered that this great savage, the chief of a large section of a powerful tribe, should docilely obey its compelling force to the extent of walking forth alone, unarmed, from among his hundreds of turbulent followers, at the behest of one individual, and that individual a woman.

Then as we paced forth in this strange order of march, a spell seemed to have fallen upon all who beheld. Not a hand was raised, not a voice.

It was as though they were bewitched. After the first gasp of wonder the silence was intense--awful. But it was not to last.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

JUDGE AND EXECUTIONER.

No, it was not to last. Something seemed to break the spell--and that with the same magical suddenness wherewith it had come about. A roar of rage arose, terrible in its menace, thundering upon the stillness of the night. Many had run swiftly back to the huts, and now I could see them, and others, swarming forward, and in the moonlight the glint of a.s.sagais. They had returned to arm themselves.

It was a fearful moment. Every nerve within me thrilled, tingled, as revolver gripped, I half-turned my horse, to check, if possible, the onrushing ma.s.s. In a moment we should be cut to pieces. We were but two--two against hundreds. Nothing could save us. But Beryl, whose eyes were never removed for so much as a second from her august captive, whose weapon never deflected from straightly covering his form, cried out--

"The first spear thrown means the death of Kuliso!"

Her tones, clear and incisive, rose above the wild, ba.s.s hubbub of furious voices. A dead silence succeeded, even as before, and the forward rush became a foot's pace. For they knew that she would keep her word.

Never shall I forget that scene, and a.s.suredly it was one to stand forth in a man's memory for the remainder of his life: the tall form of the savage chieftain stalking sullenly before that pitiless weapon; the resolute, ruthless figure of that beautiful yet terrific avenger of blood, sitting erect as she paced her horse forward with firm, controlling hand, and I, half turned in my saddle, with pistol pointed at the following-on crowd of exasperated barbarians.

This seemed effective, and they paused somewhat. Whether it was that they feared for Kuliso or themselves, or both, they forbore to rush us, and thus, with the crowd still following, but at a respectful distance, we gained the high "neck," beyond which lay our own valley.

And now, behind us, a weird, low, long-drawn cry arose. It seemed to float along the midnight veldt, caught up, echoed forth, from point to point. Was it a rallying cry? If so the whole location would be aroused and upon us, and--what then? Yet at that moment my mind held but two thoughts--admiration for the intrepidity which had prompted and carried out this undertaking; the other the sense of a compelling force which was stronger than myself--that force, Beryl.

"Oh, keep straight on, Kuliso," said the latter. "Do not stop, do not turn your head, or my bullet is certain to crash through the back of it.

You know I never miss."

The chief muttered savagely to himself, but he dared not disobey. Then he said--

"Has not our walk lasted long enough, _Umlungase_? Because, if so, I would prefer to return home."

"There are two who will never return home, Kuliso. Soon there will be three," came the answer.

"_Hau_! This is very dark talking--too dark. I know not what is meant."

"You are a liar, Kuliso," replied Beryl calmly. "A great chief of the House of Ndhlambe is a great liar. Ha! Do not stop. Again I warn you--do not stop."

I thought that moment was Kuliso's last. That terrible merciless look, which had temporarily frozen down, gleamed forth anew on Beryl's face.

I caught my breath. But again the instinct of self-preservation was stronger than his natural exasperation, and he stepped forward with renewed alacrity.

"We shall never get him in to Fort Lamport, or anything like as far," I said, as the road thither lay but a short s.p.a.ce in front of us. "He'll be rescued, or give us the slip long before."

"I don't intend to take him to Fort Lamport, or anything like as far,"

she answered shortly.