"It's something to have got the sheep," said John. "But what was the beggars' game? They couldn't have seen us after them, and they wouldn't drive the whole flock so far for the sake of cutting up one."

"Sheer devilry, perhaps," suggested Ferrier. "They knew we'd overtake 'em before they had got very far, and I dare say are chuckling at having given us all the trouble for nothing. Rather a poor game, one would think."

"Well, we'd better drive the sheep home. It's a long march, and they'll be pretty well done up by the time we get there."

They remounted, and headed the flock towards the farm. Sheep, as every one knows, and as John had experienced on the road to Nairobi, are very slow travellers.

"By Jove!" said Ferrier, when they had marched for an hour and covered perhaps two miles, "I begin to understand what your droving job was like. I should never have had the patience."

"I'd give anything for a good sheep-dog. I must ask my father to bring one with him--or send one, if he doesn't intend to come himself."

It was on the verge of nightfall when, tired and hungry, they came to the outskirts of the farm. They heard the bleating of the animals that had been already penned, and the flock, weary as they were, moved a little faster to rejoin their kind. Coming to the gate of the boma, John was surprised to find it open, having given strict orders that it should always be closed immediately after the animals were brought in for the night. There was not a man to be seen. Having driven the sheep into their pens, they hurried on towards the farm buildings.

"What a smell of wood smoke!" said Ferrier, sniffing.

"Yes; I hope they haven't set fire to anything. Ah! here's Wasama."

The Masai came running towards them, followed by his son, the Indians, Coja and Lulu, all in great haste.

"The bad men, _bwana_!" cried Coja, and began to pour out a story so rapidly that John, familiar as he now was with Swahili, could make little of it, especially as Lulu and the Masai joined in with great excitement. John silenced them, and asked Said Mohammed to explain what had happened. His story, told in more direct and natural language than John had ever heard from him before, was as follows. About half-an-hour after John had started in pursuit of the raiders Bill had rushed in, dripping wet, and reported that a large party of armed men, having raided the village north of the river, were marching rapidly down with the evident intention of swimming across and making an attack on the farm. The Bengali, according to his own account, wished to close the gate and bar the doors of the bungalow, and defend it to the last; but John afterwards had reason to believe that this was Coja's proposal, and he had found n.o.body to support him. Only a few minutes after Bill's arrival the strangers were seen rushing into the farmstead. The mistris, the Masai, Lulu, and the few women of the village who had been working in the fields instantly fled and hid themselves, who knows where. Said Mohammed went into his own house, and there awaited the coming of the enemy, resolved to die for the sahib whose salt he had eaten. The men seized him and dragged him forth, demanding that he should tell them where the rifles and ammunition were kept.

"That made me very ratty, sir," said the Bengali. "What! should I tell tales out of school? But when those fearful bounders threatened to roast me at my own fire I reflected that it could not be your wish, nor the wish of your excellent progenitor, that a failed B.A. of Calcutta University should be roast joint for the sake of a quant.i.ty of villainous saltpetre, et cetera, and therefore I owned up. But while the banditti were gloating and slapping their backs I took French leave by the back door, and lo! ensconced behind the barn was Coja, who like me had saved his bacon."

From their hiding-place they watched the proceedings of the enemy. They first of all carried all the rifles out of the bungalow; then from the little outhouse adjoining it they brought all the ammunition and all the "trade." The place had been stripped bare, as the Bengali found when he examined it after the men had gone. The negroes had then shouldered the loot under the direction of three Swahilis who had guns, and when they had marched off, the Swahilis had kindled a fire in the little s.p.a.ce between the floor of the bungalow and the ground. Then they had hurried off after the rest. As soon as they had disappeared, Coja and the Bengali emerged from their hiding-places, and extinguished the fire with water from the rain-water tank near the dairy. Very little damage had been done, the incendiaries having been in such haste to overtake the rest of their party that they had not waited to ensure a good blaze.

In the first shock of hearing this bad news both John and Ferrier used such language as might have been expected of them. It was only too clear now that the sheep-stealing had been a mere blind, cunningly devised to decoy them from the farm while the real raid was effected. To John it was a disaster. When he hurried into the outhouses and bungalow and found that rifles, ammunition, and every bundle of "trade" were gone, he felt that ruin stared him in the face. It is not surprising that, tired out after his long day's work, he saw things even blacker than they were. There was still a balance at the bank, Cousin Sylvia having insisted on paying all the expenses of Mr. Halliday's tour; though if John drew upon that there would be little or no reserve in case the second year's working turned out unprofitable. Meanwhile the actual loss was heavy, and the inconvenience perhaps greater, for without the "trade" he could not pay the labourers from the village, and what with the lack of wages and the damage to their employer's prestige, John foresaw a refusal to work any more.

An examination of the bungalow showed that the floor was little more than scorched. Nothing had been taken from it except the rifles, so far as John could see. He kept very little cash, but that was intact. His rupee notes were always stowed for security in the pockets of his belt.

It was clear that the raiders had come for arms and "trade" only, and having got what they wanted had wasted no time in merely looting.

"We can't sit down under this," said John, when he had realized the extent of his loss. "Yet I don't know what on earth we can do. We've two rifles and twenty rounds apiece, against--how many did these ruffians number, khansaman?"

"In mental arithmetic, sir, I am mere greenhorn, rank duffer; but from cursory squint I figure them at five hundred."

"Oh, come now, that won't do. If they had been so many they wouldn't have been in such a hurry, Where's Bill?"

"He has not come within my sphere of influence since he ran in like drowned rat to give us the straight tip, sir."

"Well, get us something to eat. We're famished. By the way, did any one recognize Juma among them?"

"No, sah; no Juma to-day, sah," said Coja. "Him berry much 'fraid to come heah, 'cause of Lulu, sah. Him show him face, ha! ha! she give him what for, sah."

"Go and get your supper."

John spoke irritably. Normally good-tempered, he was now unlike himself.

"And I might have guessed it if I had any gumption," he said to Ferrier.

"Juma took advantage of the sheep straying to run off with our rifles before, and it didn't require much ingenuity to invent the ruse."

"Cheer up, old chap. You'll feel better when you've had some grub. It's very sickening, but as you say, I don't see what we can do."

It was now quite dark, and they ate their supper in silence. Even Said Mohammed's excellent cookery could not overcome John's furious disgust at having been tricked. When the Bengali brought in an omelet he said--

"A thousand and one pardons, sir. The wanderer, videlicet Wanderobbo, has returned, and asks for honour of confab."

"Bring him in, and fetch Coja; it takes too long to understand Bill without him."

Bill had come to report that he had followed up the raiders for several miles to the north. They had robbed the villagers of all their foodstuffs, and all the "trade" which they had received as wages for their work on the farm, and then marched directly northward, coming after a few miles to an encampment where they were presently joined by a smaller party from the west. When he came to this part of his story Bill grew much excited. In the leader of the smaller party he recognized one of the safari which years before had attacked his village, killed his people, and plundered their store of ivory--the ivory which by rights belonged to him, and which he would yet recover.

"But that's nonsense," said John. "If these people seized his ivory years ago, it has all been sold long before this."

When this was interpreted to Bill he was like a man demented, and poured out a torrent of incoherent speech which even Coja was unable to understand. John dismissed them both, thinking that the Wanderobbo must have brooded over some old grievance until it had turned his brain.

"Bill's report has given me a notion," he said to Ferrier presently. "If they looted the village they'll be pretty heavily loaded and will go slowly. They won't march during the night, and if this business happened about five hours ago we ought to be able to overtake them if we start early in the morning."

"But, my dear fellow----" began Ferrier.

"Oh, I know it's a risk, and we're outnumbered, and we ought to be prudent, and all the other things that people say who sit in easy-chairs and wear goloshes. But it's the only thing to be done, and I'm going to do it."

"But do you think it's right to leave the farm? Wouldn't your father----"

"Hang--no, I don't mean that; I'm afraid I'm rather a bad-tempered brute to-night, old fellow; but look at it clearly, and you'll agree with me.

If we sit down under this they'll try it on again. The farm will never be safe. We might as well cut our sticks at once."

"Why not apply to the Government?"

"Absolutely useless. To begin with, it would take time, and the raiders would be who knows how far away? If they belong to that gang we heard of who've got some sort of a fort up north, they're in a country where precious few white men have ever been, if any. It would be sheer folly to send a police column into the hills after a roving band of this sort.

No, it's a settlers' job; it's one of the risks we run, like the lions, and we've got to deal with it."

"Well, but how are you going to set about it?"

"How are _we_ going to, you mean."

"A slip of the tongue, old chap. Of course I'm with you, all along the line. How are we going to set about it, then?"

"Don't know yet. That's what we've got to decide before we go to bed to-night. One thing's certain, we must make up our minds quickly, start soon, and hurry like the very d.i.c.kens, for if there's any truth in this tale of a fort, we must collar our rifles and ammunition before they get to it, or we're done. That's the first thing: to get our rifles back."

"That's a large order. How many did they take?"

"Four and a shot-gun. If they're the same lot we dealt with before they'll have about a dozen now. I know we don't stand the ghost of a chance of recovering them in a fight; that's absurd; but I rather think if we put our heads together we can find some way of diddling them."

"If it's a matter of brains I'm conceited enough to believe we have the odds, but there's a lot to consider besides. We shall have to take a safari to carry provisions, and a pretty big one if we're going to bluff them. They won't bolt as they did before. Well, where will you get your safari from?"

"The village. What are you smiling at? Snakes, I forgot they've run off with all my "trade." I've nothing to pay porters with. That's bad.

Still, the chief has known us some time, and perhaps he'll trust us.

I'll see, first thing in the morning."

"Who will you leave in charge of the farm? Not the Bengali?"