And now the latter began to open fire upon them, and the crackle of the volley behind mingled with the ugly hum of missiles overhead and around.

"_Allamaghtaag_! My horse is. .h.i.t!" exclaimed Payne, feeling the animal squirm under him in a manner there was no mistaking.

"So?" was the concerned reply. "He's got to go, though, as long as you can keep him on his legs. If we can't reach the river, or at any rate the thick bush along it, we're done for."

They turned their heads. Though beyond the reach of their missiles now, they could see that the Kafirs had by no means relinquished the pursuit.

On they came--a dense, dark ma.s.s streaming across the plain--steady of cruel purpose--pertinacious as a pack of bloodhounds. Hoste's steed was beginning to show ominous signs of exhaustion, while that of his companion, bleeding freely from a bullet hole in the flank, was liable to drop at any moment. And the welcome bush was still a great way off-- so, too, was the hour of darkness.

Meanwhile Eustace, spurring for dear life, realised to the bitter full that the terrible event which, in spite of himself, he had so ardently desired, could be of no benefit to him now. For he knew that he was doomed. Nothing short of a miracle could save his life--which is to say, nothing could. The very earth seemed to grow enemies. Behind, around, in front, everywhere, those cat-like, sinuous forms sprang up as if by magic. Suddenly his bridle was seized. A ma.s.s of warriors pressed around him, a.s.segais raised. Quick as thought he pointed his revolver at the foremost, and pressed the trigger; but the plunging of his horse nearly unseated him, and the ball whistled harmlessly over the Kafir's shoulder. At the same time a blow on the wrist knocked the weapon from his grasp. He saw the gleam of a.s.segai points, the deadly glare of hatred in the sea of rolling eyes closing in upon him. Then a tall warrior, springing like a leopard, struck full at his heart with a large, broad-bladed a.s.segai.

It was done like lightning. The flash of the broad blade was in his eyes. The blow, delivered with all the strength of a powerful, muscular arm, descended. A hard, numbing knock on the chest, a sharp, crashing pain in the head--Eustace swayed in his saddle, and toppled heavily to the earth. And again the fierce death-shout pealed forth over the wild _veldt_, and was taken up and echoed in tones of h.e.l.lish exultation from end to end of the excited barbarian host.

The night has melted into dawn; the dawn into sunrise. The first rays are just beginning to gild the tops of the great krantzes overhanging the Hashi. At the foot of one of these krantzes lies the motionless figure of a man. Dead? No, asleep. Slumbering as if he would never wake again.

There is a faint rustle in the thick bush which grows right up to the foot of the krantz--a rustle as of something or somebody forcing a way through--cautiously, stealthily approaching the sleeper. The latter snores on.

The bushes part, and a man steps forth. For a moment he stands, noiselessly contemplating the prostrate figure. Then he emits a low, sardonic chuckle.

At the sound the sleeper springs up. In a twinkling he draws his revolver, then rubs his eyes, and bursts into a laugh.

"Don't make such a row, man," warns the new arrival. "The bush may be full of n.i.g.g.e.rs now, hunting for us. We are in a nice sort of a hole, whichever way you look at it."

"Oh, we'll get out of it somehow," is Hoste's sanguine reply. "When we got separated last night, I didn't know whether we should ever see each other again, George. I suppose there's no chance for the other two fellows?"

"Not a shadow of a chance. Both wiped out."

"H'm! Poor chaps," says Hoste seriously. "As for ourselves, here we are, stranded without even a horse between us; right at the wrong end of the country; hostile n.i.g.g.e.rs all over the shop, and all our fellows gone home. Bright look out, isn't it!"

"We are two fools," answers Payne sententiously.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

A DARK RUMOUR IN KOMGHA.

There was rejoicing in many households when it became known in Komgha that the Kaffrarian Rangers had been ordered home, but in none was it greater than in that run conjointly by Mrs Hoste and her family and Eanswyth Carhayes.

The satisfaction of the former took a characteristically exuberant form.

The good soul was loud in her expressions of delight. She never wearied of talking over the doughty deeds of that useful corps; in fact, to listen to her it might have been supposed that the whole success of the campaign, nay the very safety of the Colony itself, had been secured by the unparalleled gallantry of the said Rangers in general and of the absent Hoste in particular. That the latter had only effected his temporary emanc.i.p.ation from domestic thrall in favour of the "tented field" through a happy combination of resolution and stratagem, she seemed quite to have forgotten. He was a sort of hero now.

Eanswyth, for her part, received the news quietly enough, as was her wont. Outwardly, that is. Inwardly she was silently, thankfully happy.

The campaign was over--_he_ was safe. In a few days he would be with her again--safe. A glow of radiant gladness took possession of her heart. It showed itself in her face--her eyes--even in her voice. It did not escape several of their neighbours and daily visitors, who would remark among themselves what a lucky fellow Tom Carhayes was; at the same time wondering what there could be in such a rough, self-a.s.sertive specimen of humanity to call forth such an intensity of love in so refined and beautiful a creature as that sweet wife of his--setting it down to two unlikes being the best mated. It did not escape Mrs Hoste, who, in pursuance of her former instinct, was disposed to attribute it to its real cause. But exuberant as the latter was in matters non-important, there was an under-vein of caution running through her disposition, and like a wise woman she held her tongue, even to her neighbours and intimates.

Eanswyth had suffered during those weeks--had suffered terribly. She had tried to school herself to calmness--to the philosophy of the situation. Others had returned safe and sound, why not he? Why, there were men living around her, old settlers, who had served through three former wars--campaigns lasting for years, not for months or weeks--their arms, too, consisting of muzzle-loading weapons, against an enemy more daring and warlike than the Kafirs of to-day. These had come through safe and sound, why not he?

Thus philosophising, she had striven not to think too much--to hope for the best. But there was little enough in that border settlement to divert her thoughts from the one great subject--apart from the fact that that one subject was on everybody's tongue, in everybody's thoughts.

She had found an interest in the two young girls, in reading with them and generally helping to improve their minds, and they, being bright, well-dispositioned children, had appreciated the process; had responded warmly to her efforts. But in the silent night, restless and wakeful, all sorts of grisly pictures would rise before her imagination, or she would start from frightful dreams of blood-stained a.s.segais and hideous hordes of ochre-painted barbarians sweeping round a mere handful of doomed whites standing back to back prepared to sell their lives dearly.

Every sc.r.a.p of news from the seat of war she had caught at eagerly. She had shuddered and thrilled over the account of the battle with Shelton's patrol and its stirring and victorious termination. Every movement of the Kaffrarian Rangers was known to her as soon as it became public property, and sometimes before; for there were some in an official position who were not averse to stretching a point to obtain such a smile of welcome as would come into the beautiful face of Mrs Carhayes, if they confidentially hinted to her a piece of intelligence just come in from the front and not yet made known to the general public. She had even tried to establish a kind of private intelligence department of her own among some of the Kafirs who hung around the settlement, but these were so contradictory in their statements, and moreover she began to suspect that the rascals were not above drawing pretty freely upon their imaginations for the sake of the sixpences, or cast-off clothes, or packets of coffee and sugar, with which their efforts were invariably rewarded. So this she discontinued, or at any rate ceased to place any reliance on their stories.

She had heard from her husband once or twice, a mere rough scrawl of half a dozen lines, and those chiefly devoted to explaining that camp life--made up as it was of patrols and horse guards and hunting up the enemy--left no time for any such trivial occupations as mere letter-writing. She had heard from Eustace oftener, letters of great length, entertaining withal, but such as all the world might read. But this in no wise troubled her now, for she understood. Eustace was far too cautious to intrust anything that the world might _not_ read to so uncertain a means of transit as was then at his disposal.

Express-riders might be cut off by the enemy in the course of their precarious and sometimes extremely perilous mission; occasionally were cut off.

A few days now and she would see him again, would hear his voice, would live in the delight of his presence daily as before. Ah, but--how was it to end? The old thought, put far away into the background during the dull heartache of their separation, came to the fore now. They would go back to their home, to Anta's Kloof, and things would be as before. Ah, but would they? There lay the sting. Never--a thousand times never.

Things could never be as they were. For now that her love for the one had been awakened, what had she left for the other? Not even the kindly toleration of companionship which she had up till then mistaken for love. A sentiment perilously akin to aversion had now taken the place of this. Alas and alas! How was it to end?

The return of the Kaffrarian Rangers became a matter of daily expectation. Preparations were made for their reception, including a banquet on a large scale. Still they came not.

Then an ugly report got wind in Komgha--whispered at first. A disaster had befallen. Several men belonging to the expected corps had been killed. They had const.i.tuted a patrol, report said--then a shooting party straying from the main body. Anyway, they had been cut off by the enemy and ma.s.sacred to a man. It was only the Moordenaar's Kop affair over again, people said.

Later the rumour began to boil down a little. Only four men had come to grief as reported. They had left the main body to get up a bushbuck hunt on the banks of the Bashi. They must have crossed the river for some reason or other, probably in pursuance of their hunt; anyhow, they were surprised by the Kafirs and killed. And the missing men were Hoste, Payne, Carhayes, and Eustace Milne.

The rumour spread like wildfire. The excitement became prodigious. Men stood in eager knots at the street corners, at the bars, everywhere, each trying to appear as if he knew more about it than his fellows; each claiming to be a greater authority upon the probabilities or improbabilities of the case than all the rest put together. But all were agreed on one point--that the errand of breaking the news to those most concerned was the duty of anybody but themselves. And three of the unfortunate men were married; two of their wives--now widows, alas-- being actually resident in the place, within a stone's throw, in fact.

It was further agreed that, by whoever eventually performed, the longer this duty could be deferred the better. Further information might arrive any moment. It would be as well to wait.

For once, public opinion was sound in its judgment. Further information did arrive, this time authentic, and it had the effect of boiling down rumour considerably--in fact, by one-half. The four men had set out and crossed the Bashi into the Bomvana country, as at first stated. They had been attacked by the Kafirs in overwhelming numbers, and after a terrible running fight Hoste and Payne had escaped. Their horses had been mortally wounded and themselves forced to lie hidden among the thick bush and krantzes along the Bashi River for two nights and a day, when they were found in a half-starved condition by a strong patrol of the Rangers, which had turned back to search for them. The other two men were missing, and from the report of the survivors no hope could be entertained of their escape. In fact, their fate was placed beyond the shadow of a doubt, for the Rangers had proceeded straight to the scene of the conflict, and though they did not discover the bodies--which the jackals and other wild animals might have accounted for meanwhile--they found the spots, not very far apart, where both men had been slain, and in or near the great patches of dried-up blood were fragments of the unfortunate men's clothing and other articles, including a new and patent kind of spur known to have belonged to Milne.

This was better. The killed had been reduced from four to two, the number of widows from three to one. Still, it was sufficiently terrible. Both men had lived in their midst--one for many years, the other for a shorter time--and were more or less well-known to all. This time the news was genuine, for three of the Rangers themselves had ridden in with all particulars. The sensation created was tremendous.

Everybody had something to say.

"Tell you what it is, boys," a weather-beaten, grizzled old farmer was saying--haranguing a gathering of idlers on the _stoep_ of the hotel.

"There's always something of that sort happens every war. Fellers get so darn careless. They think because Jack Kafir funks sixty men he's in just as big a funk of six. But he ain't. They reckon, too, that because they can't see no Kafirs that there ain't no Kafirs to see.

Jest as if they weren't bein' watched every blessed step they take. No, if you go out in a big party to find Jack Kafir you won't find him, but if you go out in a small one, he'll be dead sure to find you. You may jest bet drinks all round on that. Hey? Did you say you'd take me, Bill?" broke off the old fellow with a twinkle in his eye as he caught that of a crony in the group.

"Haw, haw! No, I didn't, but I will though. Put a name to it, old _Baas_."

"Well, I'll call it `French.' Three star for choice."

The liquid was duly brought and the old fellow, having disposed of two-thirds at a gulp, resumed his disquisition.

"It's this way," he went on. "I'm as certain of it as if I'd seen it.

Them oxen were nothin' more or less than a trap. The Kafirs had been watching the poor devils all along and jest sent the oxen as a bait to draw them across the river. It's jest what might have been expected, but I'm surprised they hadn't more sense than to be took so easily.

Hoste and Payne especially--not being a couple of Britishers--"

"Here, I say, governor--stow all that for a yarn," growled one of a brace of fresh-faced young Police troopers, who were consuming a modest "split" at a table and resented what they thought was an imputation.

"Well, I don't mean no offence," returned the old fellow testily. "I only mean that Britishers ain't got the experience us Colonial chaps has, and 'll go runnin' their heads into a trap where we should know better."

"All the more credit to their pluck," interrupted another patriotically disposed individual.

"Oh, shut up, Smith. Who the deuce is saying anything against their pluck?" cried someone else.

"Well, I'm sure I wasn't," went on the original speaker. "Tom Carhayes, now, is as plucky a fellow as ever lived--was, rather--and--"