Thestern command, backed by the silent persuasion afforded by the sinister muzzle of an automatic pistol, was promptly obeyed. Almost simultaneously twenty mosquito curtains were drawn back and twenty pairs of hands held as high as the limited space permitted.
Even the bravest of the passengers, newly roused from sleep, felt disinclined to try conclusions with that tall, broad-shouldered man who upheld his one-sided arguments with pistol.
The presence of a second robber seemed hardly necessary, yet there was another—a short, burly, masked man, who, in addition to holding a revolver, brandished a formidable "pine-apple" bomb.
"No hanky-panky," resumed the bearded bandit. "The first man that stirs gets a dose of this in double-quick time. Any sign of a general commotion, and my chum will deal with it quite effectively. Each gentleman in turnwill kindly produce his purse, so the job can be done properly. Now, sir."
Colin watched the business proceed with mixed feelings. It was exciting, very, to be in an actual "hold-up"; it would be something to write home about and to regale his former school chums at Stockmere. But it was quite another matter to have to hand over his valuables, small though they were. Of course, he thought, he would have to produce the swastika, since there was no hiding-place that would escape detection.
The thought of the swastika led to that of its giver. It seemed a strange parallel that Van der Wyck should have been held up in a very similar manner—or at least circumstances pointed to it—within ten or twelve days of the present robbery. The two places were far apart, it was true.
Sinclair's thoughts were interrupted by a guttural exclamation from one of the German passengers. Possibly he thought that the robbers were Hun malcontents, who, refusing to accept the reasonable terms laid down by their conquerors, were still maintaining some sort of guerilla warfare, and that by proclaiming the fact that he was a German would secure immunity.
"A Hun, are you?" exclaimed the robber chief vehemently. "Wonder you're notashamed to own it. I'll go through your kit pretty thoroughly, Fritz."
Presently Colin's turn came. He and Tiny had left their bunks and were standing side by side with arms upraised. By this time they were beginning to feel the strain of keeping their limbs in a cramped position.
The bearded robber halted. Colin, though reluctantly, lowered his arms and produced his purse and pocket-book. He wanted to dash his clenched fist against the aggressive, prominent chin of the fellow. He felt certain he could have floored him, but there was the other man with the bomb to be taken into consideration. Fortunately, both for himself and the other passengers, Colin's discretion was the better part of valour.
For a moment the masked man looked Colin squarely in the eyes.
"All right," he grunted, and without another word of explanation he passed both Colin and Tiny and proceeded to plunder the next passenger.
Before the chums could realise their good luck, or even form any idea of why their belongings should have been spared, a number of shots rang out in quick succession from the fore part of the train. The hitherto continuous escape of steam from the engine gave place to a series of puffs, punctuated by more revolver shots.Outwardly unperturbed, the bearded robber proceeded with his task, not even turning his head when a third member of the gang hurriedly appeared upon the scene and announced that the driver had uncoupled the engine and was steaming away as hard as he could.
"He'll bring the volunteers down from Yelibo," added the bearer of the news. "Pity we hadn't lifted a section of the line."
"There's no hurry," replied the leader. This was a favourite sentence of his. "Get on with your job and I'll do mine."
Meanwhile others of the band were busily engaged in relieving the passengers of the remaining coaches of their money and valuables; but, with less consideration than their leader, they unceremoniously bundled each "plucked pigeon" into one compartment.
At length the "hold-up" was completed. With a firm yet courteously-couched intimation that anyone attempting to leave the train for the next half hour would be suitably dealt with (the passengers would be left in the dark as to how this would be accomplished), the bandits backed out and retired silently into the bush.
"They've gone, curse them!" ejaculated a man, breaking the prolonged silence. "Here we are, bled white and stranded. When's the engine coming back for us?"
"It would be as well if we showed a light," suggested another. "It's bad enough being plundered; we don't want to be pulverised by a stray engine in the dark."
"Why didn't we plug the leader?" inquired the gentleman with the Portuguese cast of features. "We might have shot the lot if we'd acted together."
"You're a fine one to talk about shooting," exclaimed a Rhodesian farmer hotly. "You looked like falling through your trousers."
There was a general laugh at this, for during the raid the man had been trembling like an aspen leaf.
Then in the pause that ensued, the silence was broken by Joe Londray.
"What I'd like to know," he remarked hurriedly, "is why those two weren't made to bail up."
He pointed an accusing finger at Colin and Tiny.
"It's my opinion that they're in league with the robbers," he added.
Theshifty-eyed passenger's words were infectious. At the mere suggestion that the two lads were accomplices, Colin and Tiny were objects of thinly-veiled hostility and suspicion.
Too astounded to say a word, they stood confronting their angry fellow-passengers, until a tanned-featured man—the man who had made the practical suggestion of showing a light on the front of the engineless train—demanded abruptly:
"What have you two to say to this?"
"It is a deliberate lie," replied Tiny.
"That's an easy thing to say," snarled Londray.
"Silence!" exclaimed the other man peremptorily. "I'm taking on this business. If you wish to know, my name is Wynyard, assistant commissioner and magistrate for Nyaruma District. Got that? Right-o!"
With the utmost self-confidence, yet without any suggestion of bombast, Wynyard took command of the situation.
"Now," he continued, addressing Desmond, "I hope you won't object to my asking you a few questions. Have you met or spoken to any of that gang before?"
"Not to my knowledge," replied Tiny, after giving the names of himself and his chum.
"Now, tell me, what were your movements during, say, the last three months?"
"We were both at school in England."
"What school?"
"Stockmere."
A faint smile appeared upon Wynyard's bronzed features.
"That's Colbury Monkton, isn't it?" he inquired.
"Oh, it was," replied Tiny, "but it was shifted about a twelvemonth ago."
"H'm, that's news," observed the inquisitor. "What's the name of the Head?"
Desmond told him.
"In fact," he added, "we are both going to join the Head's brother, Colonel Narfield, at Kilembonga."
"Really," exclaimed Wynyard in surprise. "Well, gentlemen," he added, addressing the other passengers, "I feel certain that this accusation is utterly unfounded, and I am willing to take all responsibility of being answerable for the correctness of Sinclair's and Desmond's answers. If you wish to know thereasons on which I base my assumptions, they are that I am an old boy of Stockmere. All I can suggest as to why these two gentlemen were not plundered like the rest of us was on account of their youth. Apparently the chief bandit was a bit of a sentimentalist. Palaver ended."
Colin and Tiny felt greatly relieved at escaping from what might have been an awkward predicament. They knew—especially the former—that suspicion is "like tar." It sticks, and takes drastic measures to remove it.
Whether the rest of the passengers saw eye to eye with Wynyard did not much matter. They had found a new friend under difficult conditions as strangers in a strange land, and more, there was a strong bond drawing them together—the fact that all three were Old Stockmerians.
No one thought of going to sleep. The passengers, while awaiting the return of the engine, beguiled themselves with talking.
Wynyard eagerly plied the two chums with questions concerning the old school. He had left it fifteen years ago to take up a Civil Service appointment. Dr. Narfield he knew well, but the names of the assistant masters—Collier, Bowser, Blake, and Bridger—were new to him.
"I must make Colonel Herbert Narfield'sacquaintance," he observed. "From all accounts, he's a rattling good sort. I'm at Nyaruma. It's only one hundred and fifty miles from Kilembonga, and one hundred and fifty miles in this country is a very small distance, when one's nearest neighbour—not counting the natives—might be twenty or thirty miles away. So when you've a chance, look me up. I may be able to get you some shooting. We've still a few elephants and lions knocking around."
Just as the African dawn was breaking with the rapidity common to the tropics the engine returned. It was running backwards, pushing a couple of large trucks crowded with armed men and horses for the pursuit of the train bandits.
"Don't suppose we stand much chance of following their spoor," remarked one of the armed volunteers. "But we'll try our level best to collar them. You say there were ten? H'm, a big party to make themselves scarce. This is the first occasion we've had an affair like this since we downed Fritz out there at any rate, we'll make the beggars shift. It won't be healthy for them anywhere within a hundred miles of the railway."
At length the tedious, enforced wait came to an end, and the engine, puffing laboriously, resumed its stiff climb into the East African hinterland.
Although the air was still very hot, and the sun glared pitilessly upon the baked earth, Colin and Tiny, tired with excitement, slept heavily.
They did not wake until the train slowed down and came to a standstill at Tabora Station. Wynyard was no longer there; while the chums were sleeping soundly he had alighted at a place ninety miles away. Of Londray they saw no sign. He had discreetly betaken himself off to another compartment.
Colonel Narfield was waiting for them. He greeted them warm-heartedly and with unconcealed pleasure.
"We'll have grub before we start," he said, after he had superintended the efforts of four muscular blacks to carry the new arrivals' trunks and packing-cases from the train.
"Bring your suit-cases. They'll go in the car. The heavier stuff will have to go up by the bullock waggon. Well, how's everybody at Stockmere?"
The meal over, Herbert Narfield, having given final instructions to the black servants in charge of the bullock waggon, brought round the car, which, Colin noticed, was of an American make similar to those he had seen in Dar-es-Salaam.
"Hop in," said the Colonel. "Colin, you can sit alongside me; you, Desmond, in theback with McFrazer. That rifle's loaded, but the safety-catch is set."
With a gentle reminder that one has to be prepared for such slight occasions when a lion or a leopard puts in an appearance, Colonel Narfield set the car in motion.
McFrazer was the colonel's former batman, an alert soldier of the old school, who had come through the Great War with the Mons Medal and Star, the Military Medal, three wound stripes, and an inexhaustible fund of dry humour. Like most Scots, he was a born engineer, and on that account was indispensable during the numerous encounters between Colonel Narfield and the Yankee motor-car.
There was no mistaking the fact, Herbert Narfield could drive. He was somewhat inclined to be reckless, and he did not spare the engine. The latter he regarded as a mere automatic machine, that, once started, ran on "for ever" or until it "konked out." Sometimes the "konking-out" function was postponed by the well-meant action of McFrazer, who, leaning forward, would prod his master in the back and roar:
"Eh, mon; you'm daen' fine. But jist a wee bit back on the ignition. Weel, let her bide a' that."
Then, his sensitive ears confirming the fact that the engine was no longer "knocking," hewould lean back and gaze vacantly at an imaginary object yards in front, between the heads of the two occupants of the front seat, until symptoms of another mechanical eruption roused him into activity.
For several miles the road was fair, as far as African roads went. It had been constructed by forced labour under Hun supervision, and as such was made thoroughly and scientifically. But presently the road deteriorated into a mere track, rutted and impeded with stones and boulders. By a series of terrific gradients it climbed into what appeared to be impassable mountain fastnesses.
Sometimes it plunged through a rock-strewn kloof, then it swung dizzily round the shoulder of a precipitous rock. Sometimes it vanished under a sea of wind-ridged sand, to reappear in the guise of the bed of a long-dried-up mountain torrent.
"We're a good way from Kilembonga yet," observed Narfield. "It's a different type of country from this. I'm rather anxious to get into more civilised parts before nightfall."
Colin tried to make a suitable reply, but his teeth were chattering like castinets owing to the terrific bumping of the car. In spite of the cushions, he was feeling bruised all over.
Rather vaguely he wondered why men drove motor-cars in East Africa. Had the differential suddenly decided to part company and lie down in the road for a rest, Colin would not have been unduly surprised. It seemed marvellous that the swaying, jolting car held together.
"It's down hill for the next five miles," continued Colonel Narfield. "Look on your left; isn't that a fine bit?"
Colin did so. The road, slightly on the down grade, was working round the edge of an immense mass of rock, that rose almost sheer from the valley, a thousand feet below. The broad terrace—it was about twenty yards wide—in which the road ran, was the only track of any size on the face of the cliff, and, being partially overhung by the mass of rock beyond it and the summit, appeared narrower than it actually was. Beyond the valley, dense with sub-tropical foliage, and already shaded from the rays of the setting sun, were range upon range of rugged mountains.
Even as Sinclair was drinking in the magnificent grandeur of the panoramic view, there was a terrific report. For the moment Colin thought that one of the occupants of the back seat had discharged a rifle; but the next instant, as the car slithered and swung round at right angles to its original direction, he realised that a tyre had burst.
Then, with the almost instantaneous workingof his brain, he was conscious of something to which the matter of a burst tyre was a mere nothing, for, with the engine still working and the clutch in, the car was heading straightfor the brink of the precipice.
Herbert Narfieldwrenched at the steering wheel, but the still intact tyre merely slithered in the dust. Not for one moment did he lose his head. Switching off the ignition, he applied both brakes. Even then the car skidded remorselessly towards the sickening depths.
From where he sat, wide-eyed and motionless, Colin was dully aware that already the bonnet of the car appeared to cut the edge of the precipice. Momentarily he expected the front wheels to plunge over the brink, followed by the rest of the car and the occupants in a terrific dive of utter annihilation.
But seemingly by a miracle the expected catastrophe did not materialise. With a tremendous jar, that brought Colin's head in violent contact with the wind-screen, the car stopped dead.
Tiny Desmond, lying across the back of the front seat, was breathing heavily. For one thing, he was badly scared; for another, thebrass-rimmed edge of the seat-back had well-nigh winded him.
Colonel Narfield was sitting perfectly quiet at the useless steering-wheel. His bronzed features were immobile, his jaw sternly set. Realising that all immediate danger was past, he was covertly watching Colin out of the corner of his eyes. He was not disappointed at his investigation. Colin, though he "had the wind up," gave no sign of being in a state of panic.
McFrazer's, "Ah, weel, will I be for puttin' on the Stepney?" broke the silence. There was a general exodus from the stranded car—and a cautious performance, too, since it was quite possible that any undue vibration might complete a protracted disaster and send the vehicle crashing into space.
"We'll man-handle her back into a safer position first, I think," decided Colonel Narfield. "Another six inches and the front wheel would have been over. Get out the rope, McFrazer."
The man went to a locker in the rear of the car and pulled out a coil of three-inch Manilla rope of at least twenty-five fathoms in length. Next he produced two treble-sheaved cast-iron blocks and a couple of crowbars.
"This is our ditching gear," explained Herbert Narfield. "I don't suppose you everthought to see this kind of repairing kit in a car? It's most useful out here. Now, then, McFrazer, I think that boulder will do. We may not want the crowbars."
He pointed to a mass of rock, weighing perhaps a couple of tons, that had fallen and lodged against the cliff side of the track.
In ten minutes the tackle was rigged, one block being made fast by means of a strop round the boulder, the other to the chassis of the car.
"Man the rope," continued the colonel, stooping to remove two or three large stones. "All ready? Together! Here she comes."
Slowly but surely the "flake" of the tackle came home; still more slowly did the car retrace its tracks, until it was safely in the centre of the rough road.
By this time the sun was almost hidden behind the distant mountains. Already miasmic mists were rising from the valley. No longer were the dense masses of trees visible. An even pall of white vapour hid them, presenting the appearance of a vast lake.
"Now, lads, it's outspan—we camp here for the night," announced Colonel Narfield. "It would be folly to attempt to proceed. Collect all the wood you can find and pile it up in front of that hollow. I'll see to the supper,while McFrazer carries on with fitting the Stepney."
For the next twenty minutes all was activity. They were racing against time in order to make all snug before darkness set in. From underneath the seats in the car Herbert Narfield produced a big pile of blankets and some waterproof sheets. These, with the cushions, were sufficient to make up three comfortable beds, arranged in a segment of a circle, so that the sleepers' heads were towards the wall of rock and their feet towards the fire.
"Why only three?" asked Tiny.
"Because you two are excused duty tonight," explained the colonel. "McFrazer and I will keep alternate watches. If that fire dies out there'll be trouble. There are lions about, but they won't face a blaze. Supper's ready. We'll have to mark time a bit on the water, I fancy. We don't have it laid on out here, you know."
Nevertheless, it was a jolly repast, eaten in the open and in the ruddy glare of the enormous fire that cast fantastic shadows upon the wall of rock.
In the darkness a long-drawn-out roar pierced the darkness, to be answered by another and yet another. Instinctively McFrazer glanced up in the direction of his rifle, that lay propped up against a boulder.
Both Colin and Tiny recognised the sound. Lions were abroad; but when the lads were camping in the open, it seemed quite a different proposition from hearing the roar of the king of beasts from the comfort and security of a moving railway train.
"We may as well have a can of petrol handy," observed the colonel. "And the petrol-squirt, too," he added, as McFrazer hurried to the car, which was a good thirty yards from the fire. He knocked the ashes from his pipe.
"Now," he continued, "you fellows turn in. You must be tired. There's nothing to worry about except water in the morning."
Colin and Tiny turned in "all standing," wrapping themselves in blankets and drawing the macintosh sheets over them to keep off the night dews. From where they lay they saw Colonel Narfield unload his rifle, deliberately notch the nickel bullets, and replace them in the magazine.
"Good-night, old fellow," said Tiny.
"Good-night," replied his chum. Then he added, "Do you always speak the truth?"
"Always," replied Tiny, considerably puzzled. "Why do you ask?"
"Hadn't a chance to mention it before," said Colin, "but do you remember telling Wynyardthat you'd never set eyes on that josser who didn't relieve us of our cash?"
"I do," declared Desmond firmly.
"Sure?"
"Rather!"
"Well, I'm not," said Colin slowly. "Far from it. I'm fairly certain—mind you, can't prove it—that the fellow was——"
"Who?" asked Tiny eagerly.
"Van der Wyck," was the startling reply.
"Now, now, you fellows!" interrupted Colonel Narfield's voice from the vicinity of the blazing fire, "palaver ended. Not another word, or you'll both be fat-headed in the morning."
Both lads relapsed into silence. They knew perfectly well that with Colonel Narfield an order was an order in whatever form it was expressed. For the time being, then, Colin's explanations of his surprising theory had to be shelved.
Ten minutes later both lads were sound asleep beneath the African stars. The watcher by the fire heard their regular breathing.
"Not much wrong there," he soliloquised with a smile, "if they can sleep like that."
The roaring grew louder. He threw another armful of brushwood upon the fire and carefully wiped the dewy moisture from the barrel and sights of his rifle. Then he strolled across to where McFrazer was sitting, painstakingly shredding a plug of Boer tobacco in the palm of his left hand.
"Aren't you turning in?" he asked.
"Weel, I'm thinkin' not, sir," replied the man. "Them beasties seem a bit too venturesome the nicht."
Narfield nodded gravely. In spite of his reassurances to the two lads, he was far from being easy in his mind. He recollected a story, told him only two days ago, of a lioness breaking through a ring of fire round a kraal and carrying off a full-grown sheep. Another disconcerting fact was a knowledge that, at the present rate of consumption, the pile of firewood was diminishing far too rapidly.
For two hours the two men waited and watched, while their younger companions slept. Apparently the lions had decided to maintain a safe distance. They were roaring at frequent intervals—deep, prolonged volumes of sound, and yet Colin and Tiny still slept.
Suddenly an antelope, racing like the wind, tore along the mountain path. For a brief instant the startled creature stopped and gazed at the blazing fire with consternation plainly written in its large brown eyes. Then, evidently deeming the terror behind was more formidable than that in front, it rushed madly between the flames and the brink of the precipice and vanished in the darkness.
"They'll be showing themselves in a fewseconds," prophesied Colonel Narfield. "Stand by."
But ten minutes passed. An ominous silence prevailed, broken only by the deep breathing of the sleeping lads and the sharp crackle of the burning brushwood.
"It calls tae mind that bit in Melville Wood, sir," remarked McFrazer, in a lower tone than was his wont. "We whur twa companies strong, you'll remember, sir, an' we were expectin' Fritz in force come dawn. I'll no complain o' the fight; 'twas the wait as gived maist o' the lads the creepies."
Colonel Narfield nodded comprehendingly.
"When we'd a-gi'en Fritz a bellyful," continued McFrazer despondingly, "I found I'd lost ma pooch an' five francs in siller an a'. I ne'er clappit eyen on it tha' noo——"
He broke off his reminiscences and gripped his rifle. The colonel, roused to action, followed the direction of the Scotsman's glance. The tedious wait was at an end.
Silently a huge lion had approached. It was standing with its hind legs slightly bowed and its forelegs planted stiffly upon a boulder. In that position, thrown into strong relief against the blackness of the night by the fire, its bulk was enormously magnified until it resembled a ruddy, bronzed statue.
The animal was obviously troubled by thesight of the flames. The fire stood in its path. With its head thrown well back, its enormous lips bared and showing its cruel, magnificent teeth, the lion gave no sign of movement except a slow, ponderous motion of its tail.
Having apparently weighed the risks, the king of beasts came to the conclusion that it was safe to follow the spoor of the antelope between the flames and the brink of the chasm.
Throwing back his maned head still further, the lion roared. It was an intimation to his companions that they could rejoin him, for quickly two full-grown lionesses stood behind him.
The roar, shaking the solid ground, roused the sleepers in double quick time. Tiny, shaking off his blankets, rose to his feet. Dazzled by the glare and with the echoes of the terrible cry ringing in his ears, he was for a moment unable to realise his surroundings.
Quick as lightning, the lion caught sight of the roused lad. The beast was hungry, and when thoroughly famished a lion will not hesitate to attack human beings, even when protected by fire. His eyes closed ever so slightly, his nostrils quivered. These were infallible signs that the lion contemplated a spring.
Levelling his rifle, Colonel Narfield fired. He was a second or so too late. Already thelithe, ponderous mass was hurtling through the air.
The thud of the criss-cross bullet could be distinctly heard as it struck the lion in the throat. The impetus of the moving mass was retarded, but not stopped. Falling short of his intended distance, the stricken lion pitched heavily into the fire, scattering burning embers far and wide.
Then, with a roar of mingled rage and pain, the lion, with a convulsive movement, leapt from the flames. Partly blinded, the infuriated animal appeared to have no other object in view than to make for Tiny Desmond, who, still partially encumbered with his blankets, was flattening himself against the wall of rock.
Before Herbert Narfield could fire a second time, and McFrazer was unable to fire at all owing to the danger of hitting his master, the lion hurled the former aside.
The colonel staggered backwards for half-a-dozen yards and subsided ungracefully, while his rifle, flying in a different direction, fell almost at Colin Sinclair's feet.
The lion was down again, but rallying for a final spring upon the supposed cause of his wound—the luckless Tiny.
In a trice, and almost automatically, Colin seized the colonel's rifle, and, without waitingto see if there were a cartridge in the breech, pressed the trigger.
Fortunately the weapon was loaded. The bullet, fired at less than ten feet range, hit the lion just behind the left shoulder. With a yelp the lion turned to deal with its latest assailant, and fell quivering upon the ground, shot through the heart.
"Look out, sir!" shouted McFrazer, at the same time firing an apparently ineffectual shot.
The warning was a timely one, for one of the lionesses, rendered desperate by the death of her mate, was bounding rapidly towards the still prostrate man.
Yet, in her fury, the lioness was not lacking in cunning. Keeping the abandoned motor-car between her and McFrazer, she rapidly covered the distance between her and the fire, which, owing to being scattered by the lion's leap, was dying down and emitting clouds of smoke.
Colonel Narfield had already realised his danger and that of the whole party. At all costs the fire had to be made an effectual barrier. Rapidly unscrewing the cap of the petrol tin that lay within his reach, he hurled the tin into the centre of the wide circle of sizzling embers.
The result exceeded all expectations. With a hollow report, the contents of the tin exploded. Flames twenty feet in height leapt into the air. The heat was so terrific that the four men had to shield their eyes. Rivulets of flaming petrol spread in all directions. It was a barrier through which nothing endowed with life could possibly pass and survive.
The fierce flames had effectually scared both lionesses. All danger in that direction was now passed, but another peril rose to take its place. The steadily spreading petrol threatened to trap the men in the hollow in the tremendous wall of rock.
All they could do was to back as far as possible and wait. There was no chance of skirting the fire. Already the flames were licking the cliff at two points fifty yards apart.
Rather grimly Colonel Narfield realised that he had overdone things. He never thought for one moment that a mere tin of petrol would create such an inferno. It looked like a case of out of the frying-pan into the fire with a vengeance.
But already the tide of flame was receding, at least on the side nearest the four men. The terrain sloped ever so slightly in their direction, and the volatile liquid failed to flow further.
Over the blackened ground minor explosions of petrol-laden air, like the expiring gasps of a stranded fish, showed that the force of theconflagration was spent; but on the other side and in the direction of the edge of the precipice, the petrol was flowing in a sheet of dull red fire.
As if passing out of a trance, Colin dimly realised that once again a dire peril had been averted. Scorched by the heat, his eyes painfully strained, and his throat burning, he was glad to drink in copious draughts of the now comparatively cool air. And in the midst of his discomforts he felt a wave of elation. He had bagged his first lion. There lay the huge carcase, the hair singed and the skin utterly spoilt; but it was there, a victim to his borrowed rifle, nevertheless.
A loud detonation rudely interrupted his thoughts. Before he could account for the explosion McFrazer settled the point.
"Mon!" he exclaimed excitedly, "the car!"
Overtaken by the spreading flames, the motor was blazing furiously.
Bang!
Another tyre, unable to withstand the fierce heat, had exploded, scattering a realistic imitation of a firework display in the form of a shower of glowing embers.
The four men watched in mute helplessness. They could do nothing. Even had they been able to cross the sea of subsiding flame that lay between them and the car the heat from the burning vehicle would have held them at bay. There were fire-extinguishers in the locker, but in present circumstances they were useless.
Mingled with the shower of burning petrol came the reek of blistering paint as tongues of fire leapt and embraced the coupé.
"Better stand clear," suggested Colonel Narfield after a while. "There are a couple of hundred rounds of ammunition in the car. By Jove! I was a thoughtless ass to chuck that petrol into the fire."
"Some of us might have been food for the lions if you hadn't," observed Colin. "Ofcourse, it's rough luck to have to lose a good car——"
"You're right," agreed Colonel Narfield gravely. "Bring that rifle along with you, Tiny. My shoulder's a bit stiff ... nothing much. The brute's claws missed me."
Quitting their retreat that had all but been a fatal trap, the stranded travellers hastened back along the cliff path until a projecting rock offered a secure barrier from chance missiles.
They were only just in time. The ammunition, consisting of both ball and shot cartridges, was exploding like the fire of a badly-disciplined platoon. Fragments of nickel, splaying against the face of the cliff above their head and dislodging fragments of rock, were sufficient evidence to justify the display of caution on the part of Colonel Narfield and his companions.
The petrol in the back of the car had also exploded—twenty gallons that caused a flame compared to which the ignition of the two-gallon tin was a mere nightlight.
Luckily the car had been standing on ground shelving towards the cliff, and consequently the flaming spirit flowed steadily in that direction, falling in a cascade of fire into the abyss and lighting the deep valley for miles.
It was a weird scene, with a subdued orchestral accompaniment provided by theblood-curdling roars of the now thoroughly scared lionesses. Nor did the flames die out until the first blush of dawn stole over the eastern sky and the night of horror and disaster was at an end.
"We must get a move on before the sun's up," said Colonel Narfield briskly. Although suffering considerable pain from the concussion sustained when the lion hurled him to the ground he made light of his hurts. His chief concern was for the welfare of his newly-joined assistants, and realising that a merry heart goes a long way he endeavoured by precept and example to cheer up his inexperienced companions. "It's a mere forty miles to Kilembonga and fairly good going. We'll be able to find horses at Sibenga's Kraal: that's a matter of a couple of hours' trek. Now then, McFrazer, let's collect what remains of the gear."
The four smoke-grimed and dishevelled men prepared to resume their journey on foot. There was a considerable amount of baggage that had survived the fire in addition to that lost in the car. The two rifles and ammunition, tinned provisions and blankets, even when distributed between four persons, made quite a heavy load, and before long they would feel heavier still.
Of the car nothing remained but the fourcylinders, a twisted crank-case, the steel chassis, and a medley of buckled pipes, wires, and rods.
"And the worst of it is," remarked Colonel Narfield, "she wasn't insured. I wrote to an agent in Nairobi only last Monday, but as I didn't know the amount of the premium there's nothing doing in that line. Now, lads, mind your step. Keep a look out for snakes. They're rather more formidable than the grass snakes you used to hunt for on the hills around Stockmere."
For the next hour progress was well maintained in spite of the rough road. It was steadily down hill, the path skirting the bold face of the mountain for nearly two miles before it descended into a grassy valley.
Presently Colin caught sight of a column of smoke rising from a collection of beehive-shaped huts.
"That's Sibenga's Kraal," announced Colonel Narfield. "The natives in this part are of Zulu stock, and in their manners and customs they don't differ much from their blood relations in Natal."
"Are they Makoh'lengas?" asked Colin.
"Makoh'lengas?" repeated Herbert Narfield, "No; but what do you know about Makoh'lenga?"
Colin told him.
"H'm," remarked his questioner. "And who, might I ask, spun you this fairy tale? Your friend Van der Wyck, eh? He must be a humorist of sorts. Let me tell you that the Makoh'lenga are almost pure-blooded Zulus. It is true that they trekked north, but the yarn about a secret city is all eye-wash. The Makoh'lenga invariably live in kraals, and since they are not allowed to fight they rear cattle. A few, I believe, work in the mines, but only a few."
Sinclair was dumfounded at the information. Already his faith in Van der Wyck had received a rude shock when he had a suspicion that Van der Wyck and the train robber were one and the same person. Nevertheless, he was reluctant to believe that the Afrikander had "sold him a dog."
Placing the rifle he was carrying in the crook of his left arm, Colin produced the swastika which he had worn round his neck since the day on which he had had it given him.
"What do you make of this, sir?" he asked.
Colonel Narfield stopped, set down his pile of blankets, and examined the barbaric-looking jewel.
"By Jove, Colin!" he exclaimed after a brief scrutiny. "Where on earth did you pick this up?"
Itwas Tiny Desmond who answered the question.
"Van der Wyck gave it to Colin for a sort of keepsake, sir."
"A rather valuable one," commented the colonel.
"Well, you see," pursued Tiny, "Colin saved his life. He——"
"Shut up, you ass!" whispered Colin, turning a dusky red. "Nothing of the sort, sir. I threw him a lifebelt. He had fallen overboard."
"And jumped in after it to make sure that Van der Wyck got it," continued the unabashed Tiny. "The ship was doing about seventeen knots at the time and it was night. They were in the water for about an hour before a boat picked them up."
"I'd like to make Van der Wyck's acquaintance," observed Herbert Narfield, handing back the swastika. "It would be interesting to know how he came by it. There's an inscription on it in Chaldean and, I fancy, Hebrew, and these two rough engravings represent either a winged bull or a paschal Iamb. At least, that's what I take them to be without going deeply into the matter. This trinket might possibly be three thousand years old. We'll go further into the matter later on. Meanwhile we are approaching Sibenga's Kraal."
The approach of the four white men had already been observed, and a swarm of natives—men, women, and children—poured from the huts with loud cries that were intended as a song of welcome for the illustrious guests.
At their head stalked Sibenga himself. The chief was dressed in a huntsman's discoloured scarlet coat that in better days might have graced the Quorn or the Pytchley meet, a pair of canvas trousers that at one time were white, and a pair of khaki puttees. Round his neck he wore a bicycle chain burnished until it shone like silver. From the charm was suspended a copper disc on which were roughly cut the words "Sibenga: he wants watching." His head was shaven, with the exception of a ring of hair worked up with gum until it resembled a leather headband.
His face was full, his eyes small and deepset. A scanty black beard failed to conceal the full protruding lips and flabby cheeks of the chief. His feet from the lowermost folds of the puttees were bare. In his right hand he carried a knobkerrie, while on his left arm he bore a small cowhide shield.
Yet in spite of his bizarre appearance Sibenga appeared anxious to please his white guests. True he was somewhat puzzled that the four men had arrived on foot, and that they carried loads instead of being accompanied by native porters.
Colonel Narfield wasted no time in preliminaries. He spoke Swahili fairly fluently, and although he had not been long in the country he had picked up a smattering of the Kaffir tongue that is more or less understood from Cape Town to Ujiji.
"I want to borrow four good horses," he said, after explaining who and what he was and that his kraal was at Kilembonga.
Sibenga gave an order to one of his subjects. The man, after grovelling in the dust at his lord's feet, backed away. In a few minutes he returned accompanied by three other men and four sorry-looking horses, for unlike the Zulus and Matabeli the Sibengas to a certain extent reared horses.
"What awful-looking screws," remarked Tiny.
"Yes," agreed Colonel Narfield. "Awful-looking, but they're 'salted'—that is, proof against the deadly tsetse fly. Now comes the tough business—bartering."
It was a long and tedious programme. Sibenga led off by expressing himself willing to part with the four animals in exchange for the two rifles, although he knew perfectly well that no native unless serving as a soldier under British officers is allowed to possess a breech-loader.
Next he demanded whisky, a commodity which Colonel Narfield did not have and which was alsotabooas far as the natives were concerned, a heavy penalty being imposed upon anyone caught supplying the blacks with intoxicating drinks of any description.
Thwarted on these two points Sibenga became sulky, and hinted that he meant to end the palaver.
"I will give you four good blankets for the loan of the horses," said Colonel Narfield firmly. "You can send men with us to bring the animals back, and I will give them two good axes and a looking-glass as a present to you."
"No; ten blankets, four axes, a looking-glass, and a box that talks" (a gramophone or a musical box), declared Sibenga.
"Did you dare to bargain thus with thewhite men with yellow hair and blue eyes?" asked Colonel Norfield.
Sibenga ignored the question.
"They have gone away," he observed, and in his heart he was thankful that they had, for the Germans were not particular in their methods of dealing with the natives.
"And better men have taken their places," rejoined Narfield. "Listen, Sibenga: were your watchers-by-night asleep between sunset and sunrise? Did they see a blaze of fire upon yonder mountain?"
The chief nodded.
"I caused that fire," proceeded Colonel Narfield. "Supposing that fire came down and ate up your kraal: where would your horses be then?"
For a moment Sibenga looked awe-stricken. He had reason to fear the white man's magic.
"What do you want my horses for?" he asked.
"To get back to my kraal," replied Colonel Narfield.
"It has been reported to me," said Sibenga slowly and deliberately, "that white men can fly higher and quicker than the mountain eagles. Let me see you do it, and then I will believe. You will not want horses, O white chief that went in a cart that smokes andcame back without it. Spread your wings and fly."
"The old rascal hasn't kept his eyes shut," remarked Colonel Narfield to his companions. "He saw the car going to Tabora the day before yesterday, and apparently his watchers saw the old bus burning. At any rate, since we are on foot he thinks us very small beer. We can't point a rifle at the old bounder's head, because instructions have been given that the natives are to be treated with consideration—and Sibenga evidently knows that and regards it as a form of weakness. The District Magistrate, backed up by a full company of Haussas, would put the wind up the fellow, I guess."
The situation seemed a deadlock. Since Sibenga refused to lend the animals and Colonel Narfield could not use force—even if he attempted to do so there were fifty or sixty powerful natives armed with spears and kerries to be reckoned with—it looked as if the four weary men would have to undergo the humiliation of walking away without having achieved their object of obtaining transport. Suddenly Colin thought of Van der Wyck's gift. Now occurred an opportunity of proving the truth of the Afrikander's words that the swastika was a talisman which would work wonders with the natives—on the presumptionthat the Makoh'lengas and Sibenga's people were of kindred race and influenced to a great extent by the same manners and customs.
"Any use, do you think, sir?" he asked when he had briefly stated his inspiration.
"Might be, anyway," replied Colonel Narfield. "Make a show of it. There's nothing like display to impress the natives."
Colin, Desmond, and McFrazer rose to the occasion. While Sinclair slowly and deliberately drew out the talisman and proffered it to Narfield on bended knee, Tiny and the old soldier stood erect with their right hands raised in salute.
Then with an equally dramatic reverence Colonel Narfield held Colin's swastika in front of the dumfounded Sibenga.
"Behold, Sibenga!" he thundered. "The Sign demands submission. Refuse and the dread penalty awaits you."
For a brief instant there was a tense silence. Then, almost simultaneously, Sibenga, his head men, his warriors, and the rest of the company threw themselves on their knees and bowed their heads in the dust.
"We see the Sign!" almost shrieked the chief. "Speak Thy will, O Great, Great One, and we obey."