Still, if it had been any other than Ben Halse--and, besides, that white face, those eyes, gleaming in the starlight!

"You can have ten," he said gruffly, "if you can get as many to volunteer."

Ten? The whole troop wanted to volunteer on the spot. But the ten were chosen.

"I'll be somethinged if I follow up this investigation any further,"

said Sergeant d.i.c.kinson, who was one of those chosen, to himself, as they set out. "He may have killed a hundred blanked 'Sheenies' for all I care. I'm not going to hunt down a chap like that. I'd rather chuck the Force."

It may be said that the search party utterly failed in its object. It was met by overwhelming numbers, and there was nothing for it but a precipitate retreat upon the column again.

Then and for all the days to come Verna Halse realised that for her the light of the world had gone out.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE NAKED IMPI.

The police camp was still and silent in the early dawn, if dawn it could be called, for a damp, dark mist wrapped the earth in thick folds. It had been found necessary to go into camp, if only to rest the horses for the next day's march, which would bring the escort to Esifeni. It was deemed fairly safe too, in view of the defeat inflicted upon the enemy the evening before. Besides, they had got into open country now, and the close quarter surprise in the bush was no longer possible.

Was it not? Here was a worse enemy than thick bush. In the couple of hours before dawn the mist had stolen down upon them, shrouding the whole camp with a feeling of dazed helplessness. The vedettes thrown out on four sides, three men strong apiece, might as well not have been there now. Mist is a dreadfully formidable auxiliary to a wary, determined foe, stealing in cautiously behind it.

Of course all had lain down, ready for the smallest call to arms. Most were asleep; young men, fearless, healthily tired, are not likely to be kept awake by such a trifle--all in the day's work--as a possible attack. Not all so slept, however. Verna, pale, haggard, hollow-eyed with grief, was carefully sponging out her rifle; eager now in her fierce longing for some kind of vengeance, even though vicarious vengeance, for another opportunity of using it to some purpose. No compunction of any sort was in her mind now. The more of _his_ slayers she could send to join him in the other world, the greater would be her joy--the only joy left to her. She had declined Sub-Inspector Dering's offer to clean the weapon for her on the ground that any sort of occupation was better than none, and sleep was impossible.

By this time the whole Force was aware of the relationship existing between her and the missing man, and all forbore or feared to intrude upon her grief. Stony-eyed, silent, under this second blow, she stared forth upon the enshrouding mist, as though to pierce its dark folds and see--what? Her father was frankly snoring. It was characteristic of that hardened up-country adventurer that nothing short of absolute necessity should be allowed to interfere with the recuperating powers of nature. The two officers in command, likewise the same number of sergeants, were wide awake, and conversing in low tones.

It grew lighter and lighter, the mist notwithstanding. The sun must be up. They thought of giving orders to saddle up. By the time the process was accomplished, and Minton's miserable harness got into working order by the agency of countless bits of string and _reimpje_, it would be clear enough to march. But there was a guardian angel over that camp after all.

Suddenly a shot rang out, then another. In an instant the whole camp was astir. But no flurry, no fuss. As we have said, the whole escort had slept under arms, and each trooper awoke in his place and ready.

Two more shots followed from the same quarter, but this time much nearer, then a small volley from another vedette posted on the next face of the camp.

A swirl of air cleft the mist. From the sides on which the shots were fired the vedettes were now seen running in.

"Large impi close on us, sir," reported the first to arrive, breathlessly. "Hardly six hundred yards now."

Inspector Bray issued but one short order. He had been prepared for such a contingency, and everything had been prearranged on pitching camp. Now, in a second, each man had built up what cover he could with his saddle and blanket, and lay behind it, his rifle forward, alert and ready. He had not long to wait.

Another swirl of air rolled back the mist, leaving a quarter of a mile on that side exposed as by the raising of a curtain. It was as the sentinels had said. In crescent formation the dense black cloud swept on--in dead silence--a phalanx of shields, a perfect bristle of a.s.segais. A black impi--a naked impi--no dirty tattered shirts or ragged store clothes among these. They were as the old-time warriors of the king--with flowing war adornments and crested headgear and great tufted shields. And they were no further off than four hundred yards.

A sharp word of command and the police rifles rang out. The oncoming ranks were shaken, but with the second volley the whole advancing ma.s.s had sunk like magic to the earth, and the discharge swept over them harmlessly. At the same time a terrific volley swept over the camp _from the rear of the a.s.sailants_. These, under cover of it, made a nearer rush, and the same tactics were repeated.

"By G.o.d!" shouted Bray, taking in this, and excited by a couple of bullets whizzing over, and very near to, his head. "There's tactics in this. Covering their advance! Who the devil could have taught them that move, eh, Halse?"

The latter said nothing at first, but he thought he knew.

"It's Sapazani's prime impi," he declared. "No clothes, and charging in. We've got our job cut out. Not 'shirt-tail' warriors these, but quite after the real old style."

As the "covering tactic" was repeated the impi extended with lightning-like rapidity, following out the old Zulu practice of throwing out surrounding "horns." They could not have been less than a thousand strong--rather over than under. And now for the first time arose from that number of throats the roar of the war-shout--

"Usutu!"

The police horses were now thrown into confusion--several of them had fallen in that overhead volley, standing high as they did, and were kicking and struggling in all directions; indeed, it was all that those told off to hold them could do to restrain them on the picket lines at all. As yet, however, not a man had been hit.

"The chief!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Ben Halse eagerly, touching Bray on the arm.

"Sapazani."

In the forefront of the impi, waving his great shield, Sapazani was now conspicuous. His gigantic form, the towering black ostrich plumes stuck within his head-ring would have marked him anywhere. But he seemed to bear a charmed life. A bullet from Ben Halse clipped one of his plumes, but he shook his head and laughed.

"Greeting, U' Ben! Thy hand and eye are failing," he roared; bounding, leaping, like a wild beast, in the forefront of his followers, who were now beginning to fall around him in rows. All sides of the camp were busy now, and but for the quick and, literally, ma.s.sacring fire poured into the rush, would have been overwhelmed.

"The chief! The chief!" shouted the excited men. "Now, then, all at him at once. We'll down the devil."

But they did not. Never still, Sapazani dodged the volley and laughed exultantly. But even as he did so he leaped in the air and fell flat.

Those in her neighbourhood looked up at Verna Halse, who, pale as death, with a red spot on each cheek and dull eyes, after one quick glance began refilling her magazine.

"By G.o.d, Miss Halse, you've killed Sapazani!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sergeant d.i.c.kinson. "You've killed the chief."

It was indeed so. While others had been concentrating their fire on that whirling, bounding figure without result, Verna, her heart on fire with burning longing for revenge, but her brain dangerously, deadly cool, had been watching her opportunity, watching when a fraction of a moment's stillness on the part of her quarry should give her the opportunity she sought. It had comet and she had taken it.

A rousing, ringing cheer went up from the men. Already on the other side the combat had become nearly hand to hand. a.s.segais now were hurled into the camp, and more than one trooper was stricken. Minton, the storekeeper, was raving and cursing with one sticking through his leg, to the accompaniment of the howling of his progeny; but on the side led by Sapazani the onslaught wavered. The dead and wounded lay tremendously thick, and still the police bandoliers were not half empty, and now amid freshly heartened cheers their contents still played upon the roaring ma.s.ses. Then, as the word mysteriously and quickly went round that the chief was slain, the news instead of inspiring them with the fury of exasperation had the contrary effect, and lo! as quickly as they had come on they were now in full retreat. A rain of bullets followed them, but no pursuit was allowed.

Verna had grounded her rifle, and stood looking after the retreating enemy. Then she walked back to the trap and deposited the weapon, speaking to n.o.body and ignoring the enthusiastic congratulations showered upon her. The while the vanishing curtain of mist was hanging in diminishing filminess over the hills, and the sun rose bright and glorious into a vault of unclouded blue.

"If you'll take my advice," said Ben Halse to the Inspector, "you'll have Sapazani verified dead without loss of time. They might rally and rescue him. But look out carefully for the wounded. They may send more than one man under before they go under themselves."

His advice was needed. In more than one instance some desperate savage, mortally and otherwise disabled, gripped his a.s.segai in a feigned death grip to strike a last blow at any who should be unwary enough to approach him. But Sapazani was found not to be dead, though his days were numbered not by hours, but by minutes.

He, as they surrounded him, opened his eyes, but made no act of aggression, although by an effort he might have reached his broad a.s.segai. Verna's bullet had drilled through his chest, narrowly missing the heart, and, being a Dum-dum, had torn away a gaping and ghastly hole beneath the shoulder where it had come out. As they propped him up against the body of one of his slain followers the rush of blood was enough to have ended the life of any one but a savage then and there.

"_Whau_!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed feebly. "It is U' Ben. And we were friends."

"Were, yes," answered the trader shortly. "No one knows better than Sapazani why we are so no longer."

This, of course, was "dark" talking to Bray and the police. However, they supposed it referred to some trading transaction between these two.

And at the same time a very uncomfortable misgiving came into Ben Halse's mind. What if the dying chief, out of sheer malignity, were to "give away," for the benefit of the police, some very awkward, not to say incriminating transactions in which he had been mixed up. But Sapazani's next words were--

"Where is Izibu? for something tells me I died by her stroke. I would fain see her again to say farewell."

Ben Halse's face hardened, knowing what he did and what the others did not. He hesitated, but as he did so a clear, hard voice struck upon his ear--upon the ears of all of them.

"Here is Izibu." And Verna, who had been approaching unseen, joined the group.

"It is well," said the dying chief. "I am content. We have been friends."

There was a world of pathetic dignity about the man as he sat there, his large, powerful frame thrilling in every nerve with bodily anguish, his fine face wet with the dews of death, as he turned his l.u.s.trous but fading eyes upon one or the other of the group.

"Friends!" echoed Verna in biting scorn. "Friends? Where, then, is he who was left behind yesterday, he who was our friend and therefore yours?"

Sapazani looked puzzled, then a light seemed to dawn upon him.