Beforenightfall Colin, Sinclair and Tiny Desmond were safely installed at Kilembonga. They were almost too dead-beat to take stock of their new abode that night. The reaction of their adventurous journey by train, car and on foot, ending with thirty odd miles on horseback had told heavily.
They were barely conscious of sitting down to a good square meal and of being shown into a spacious bedroom. After that everything became a blank until close on noon on the following day.
"Tiny, old son," exclaimed Colin, "we've slept the clock round."
"Might have slept the clock square, for all I know," replied Desmond, stretching his aching limbs. "Hullo! Where are we? Honest Injun, I thought we were back at Stockmere."
The two chums sat up and gazed at one another from opposite corners of a large palm-thatched room. The windows were shaded by"jalousies" or open louvres, from the almost vertical rays of the sun.
The interior of the room was simplicity itself, or, as Desmond remarked, "And everything within that cot was wondrous neat and clean." The furniture was almost entirely constructed of African teak, while to render the woodwork immune from the onslaughts of ants the legs of the beds, chairs, and wash-stands stood in shallow tin bowls of water.
"Where are our clothes, I wonder?" enquired Tiny.
"They can't have arrived yet," replied his chum. "The bullock waggon——"
"Yes, I know," interrupted Desmond. "But the things we wore yesterday. I have some idea that I left mine on that chair."
A brief search resulted in the finding of the missing garments. The clothes had been brushed, neatly folded, and placed inside two tin trunks.
Evidently the sounds made by the searchers had penetrated into another part of the house, for there was a tremendous knock on the door, followed by the entrance of Tenpenny Nail.
"Me your servant, sah," he announced, addressing Colin. "Tenpenny Nail—dat's me. Blue Fly him come one time. Gone fetchee up bath-water."
Colin regarded his new acquaintance curiously. He saw a tall, broad-shouldered man of a type totally distinct from the Kaffir.
Tenpenny Nail was a Kruman who had served in a Haussa regiment attached to the "Waifs," or West African Frontier Force. Attaining the rank of corporal, he had elected at the close of hostilities to take his discharge at Ujiji instead of returning to "The Coast." His former master, late platoon-commander, had recently sold out and returned to England, so Tenpenny Nail had taken service with Colonel Narfield at Kilembonga.
This much Tenpenny Nail related promptly, accompanying his recital with a succession of broad grins that gave his features the appearance of being almost all mouth.
In the midst of his introductory speech Tenpenny Nail was interrupted by the arrival of his colleague, Blue Fly, who so strongly resembled Colin's servant that the lad wondered if he would ever be able to distinguish one from the other.
Blue Fly was staggering under the weight of an enormous earthenware jar of water. He could have carried the weight with equanimity in the open by balancing the jar on his head; but the height of the doorway prevented him, and perforce he had to carry it in his arms.
Powerfully built from the waist upwards, Blue Fly, like most African natives, was woefully thin and weak "on his pins," and it certainly looked as if his spidery legs would give way under the weight of his burden.
"Massa Demon," he announced majestically. "Tiffin him ready in half a perishing hour."
"Right-o, Bluebottle," replied Tiny cheerfully.
Blue Fly looked both surprised and pained.
"I tell you, sah," he observed with solemn dignity. "My name is Blue Fly, sah, not Bluebottle."
"That's all right, old son," rejoined Tiny. "A mistake on both sides. My name's Desmond."
But it was a very long time before Blue Fly left off calling his new master "Demon," often at most inopportune moments.
Having bathed and dressed, Colin and Tiny found their way to the dining-room, where Colonel Narfield was awaiting them.
"Had a good night?" he inquired. "That's splendid. We won't start serious work for a couple of days. That'll give you a chance to look round, and by that time the rest of your kit ought to be here. No; we don't do much between eleven and three unless we're obliged to."
After lunch, Colonel Narfield, foregoing his customary "forty winks," showed the newarrivals round the place. The house was solidly constructed of teak with corrugated iron outside. The roof was partly thatch and partly "tin." It was not a picturesque building by any means, although the broad stoep saved it from utter ugliness. It was long and rambling, and with the exception of the right wing, was one-storeyed.
In front of the house was a wide courtyard; on the back were the stables, stores, and workshops. The whole was surrounded by a formidable-looking fence with a bank of earth on the inside and a six-feet ditch without.
The motor garage was empty for obvious reasons, but in the stable were six "salted" horses and four trek-oxen, the remainder being on their way from Tabora with the chums' luggage.
In the workshops, which were well equipped both for iron and woodwork, a dozen natives were diligently at work under the supervision of McFraser. Adjoining the shop was a spacious laboratory.
"This is where you will spend a good many of your working hours," observed Colonel Narfield. "Of course that doesn't mean that you won't get out-door work—far from it. We've got to make a complete survey of the Rubera Valley, which is almost entirely in this estate. It will have to be mapped out, photographed, and recorded before we tackle the task of mining gold. As the result of preliminary investigations, I find that the district promises to be rich in gold, both in reefs and sand."
He went on to explain how gold is collected from alluvium by means of hydraulic washings, and the various artifices used to render the operation more prolific and profitable. He explained, also, how gold is obtained from auriferous quartz, the broken ore being passed through a "stamp-battery," and the precious metal is then extracted by a chemical process.
"And what is the stockade for?" asked Tiny. "It doesn't seem high enough to keep out lions."
"A lion could leap over it," replied Colonel Narfield, "but it's hardly likely to do so, especially when there is plenty of food to be found outside. As a matter of fact this place was built under Hun supervision. It was at one time a fortified outpost."
"Against the Makoh'lenga?" asked Colin.
Herbert Narfield smiled.
"You seem to have Makoh'lenga on the brain," he remarked. "It would be interesting to know what your friend Van der Wyck actually did tell you."
Forthe next few weeks the chums were kept busily employed in getting accustomed to their new surroundings. Armed with remarkably accurate maps—relics of German occupation and characteristic of the military thoroughness with which the cartographers worked—they explored the rocky valley of the Rubera, a small and swiftly flowing river that maintained a full head of water even in the dry season.
They visited the neighbouring kraals, climbed the rugged mountains that separated Kilembonga from the forest-covered basin of the Upper Nile and the untrodden wastes drained by the mysterious Congo.
They shotwildebeestefor food and crocodiles and vultures because they were enemies to man. Lions and rhinoceri they did not encounter, and perhaps it was as well in the earlier stages in their careers as sportsmen.
Their belongings had arrived safely, although the ox-waggon had been delayed for three days by a thunderstorm that had converted the rough road into an impassable morass, and they now had their own rifles and a fair amount of ammunition.
The life was strenuous, adventurous in a small degree, and healthy, and within a few days of Tiny's arrival at Kilembonga the irritating cough had practically disappeared.
One morning, when Colin and Tiny were up early with the intention of riding over to a native kraal to hire additional labourers, the lads were rather surprised to find six fully armed natives squatting on the ground dust outside the entrance gate of the stockade.
The men were attired similarly to the Matabele and Zulus. Each wore a head-ring, leopard-skin kaross, and loin cloth, while round ankles and wrists they sported rings bristling with feathers. Each carried a cow-hide shield, knobkerrie, stabbing-spear, and a sheaf of throwing assegais. Upon seeing Colin and Tiny the men sprang to their feet, their leader making "konza" or salutation.
"See what they want, Tenpenny Nail," ordered Colin, who knew that the Kruman had a smattering of the local dialects.
Tenpenny Nail, who never forgot that he had been a full corporal in a crack Haussa regiment, went up to the natives in a determined and authoritative manner, and a heated interview resulted.
Presently he reported to his master that themen were from Sibenga's Kraal, and had been sent to ask for the return of the four horses lent by the chief to Colonel Narfield on the memorable journey from Tabora.
"That's knocked our early morning excursion on the head, Tiny," declared Colin. "We'll have to inform Colonel Narfield, although I know for certain the horses were returned."
"Keep 'em long time wait, Massa Sinclair," suggested Tenpenny Nail. "If you gib de word I put 'em in clink one-time sharp."
Colin knew that Colonel Narfield was still asleep and that he was recovering from a slight attack of intermittent malaria. Also the lad had been long enough in East Africa to know that one way to impress the natives was to keep them waiting.
"Tell them to stop where they are, Tenpenny Nail," he ordered. "When the Great One thinks fit he will receive Sibenga's people."
The two chums and their Kruman servants went outside the stockade. The door was secured in order to keep the light-fingered natives from pilfering. Then, having seen their horses stabled, they went into the house and knocked at the door of Colonel Narfield's room.
"Some roguery here," decided Herbert Narfield, when Colin had explained the reasonfor the deputation's presence without. "The horses were sent back the morning following, and Sibenga's men who came with us were given presents to take to their master. Right-o, Colin; I'll see the beggars. Tell Blue Fly and Tenpenny Nail to admit them after they've left their arms outside the gate."
Leaving Colonel Narfield to complete his toilet, the two chums gave the necessary instructions to the Krumen.
A hotly-worded encounter ensued; the deputation being reluctant to be deprived of their weapons, while Tenpenny Nail was equally emphatic that they must do so. Neither side being disposed to give in, the Kruman told them in barrack-room English to clear out and shut the gate in their faces.
Sibenga's deputation were now on the horns of a dilemma. They dare not return to their chief without having delivered his message, and the door was shut to them unless they laid aside their arms.
At last, considerably chastened, they shouted to the Haussa to open to them, and that they would leave their spears and shields on the ground outside the stockade.
"Does Sibenga dare to suggest that I am a thief and have stolen his horses?" demanded Colonel Narfield sternly.
"Are there no thieves amongst the whitemen?" asked the leader of the deputation, answering one question by another. "Only one moon ago a white man who has a tree for a leg stole three oxen from Elyaui Kraal."
"Then perhaps he stole Sibenga's horses," suggested Colonel Narfield. "And the men who came here with the animals; have they returned?"
"Great One, they have not," was the reply. Herbert Narfield looked grave at the information. He could only conclude that the men had bolted, taking with them the presents he had sent to Sibenga.
"The chief Sibenga ordered us to make sure," declared the spokesman pointedly, after the Colonel had expressed his surprise in words.
"So that was why you came armed? If your master does not want to lose six more men he had better not send them here with assegais and shields, for they will be instantly struck down with the white man's magic. Nevertheless, not because Sibenga says you must, but because I am willing to allow it, a search may be made here for the missing horses."
The deputation, shepherded by Tinned Salmon, Colonel Narfield's personal servant, made a tour of the outbuildings, but to their obvious disappointment, no animals that resembled the horses from Sibenga's Kraal were to be found.
Colonel Narfield, Colin, and Tiny met the natives outside his laboratory, which the latter also showed a desire to explore.
"Now, Mouth of Sibenga," said the Colonel, addressing the head of the deputation. "You see I have spoken the word. Before you depart you, too, might like a gift."
He displayed a silvered steel concave mirror set in an ornamental copper frame—a tawdry article that finds a ready sale amongst savages. The headman's features broke into a grin of childish anticipation.
"Very well," continued Colonel Narfield. "You can have it if you can take it out of this bowl of water."
So saying, he placed the mirror in water and stood aside. With every sign of eagerness the native plunged his hand into the water, only to withdraw it with a yell of pain and surprise.
"Hau! It is bewitched!" exclaimed the headman. "This is the White Man's Magic."
"What! Are you afraid?" asked the Englishman, mockingly. "Are there no followers of Sibenga who will try?"
After a considerable amount of hesitation a second native plunged his hand into the water. He withdrew his hand quicker than he hadinserted it, and began running round in circles, yelling in terror.
"You call yourselves warriors?" cried Colonel Narfield scornfully. "You have hearts like chickens. Will no one else try?"
A third native began very gingerly to touch the surface of the water. Nothing happening, he summoned up courage and dipped his hand until the water was almost up to his wrist, and his finger tips were within two inches of the coveted mirror. Then he, too, gave a yell and abandoned the attempt.
"Now," continued Herbert Narfield, "you see something of the White Man's Magic. Even your greatest witch-doctors are unable to fight it. If any man comes to my kraal with evil intent he will be struck down with the same magic as three of you have felt .... Colin, you've that swastika on you, haven't you?" he added. "Bring it out and touch the water with it."
Sinclair did so. At the sight of the amulet the superstitious delegates were visibly impressed. Still more so were they when Colin unconcernedly drew the looking glass from the bowl of water and immediately replaced it.
"Now try again," invited Colonel Narfield, addressing the headman. "We have quelled the magic spirit of the water. You will be no longer in peril. Take out the gift."It was quite a long time before the native could master sufficient courage to renew the attempt. Trembling in every limb, he cautiously dipped his finger in the innocuous liquid and quickly withdrew it. Satisfying himself that so far the Great One's word was truth, he thrust in his hand and triumphantly obtained possession of the mirror.
"Hau!" he exclaimed. "The magic is eaten up. There is no longer anything to be feared. Perhaps, O Great One," he added darkly, "the magic that surrounds your kraal may likewise be dispersed. See, I place my hand in the water again. It—oh! oh! oh!"
Literally beside himself with fear, the headman took to his heels, ran across the courtyard, and disappeared through the gate of the stockade.
His panic was infectious, his companions also bolting in terror. Outside the fence they stopped only to recover their weapons, and then at a terrific pace they disappeared along the rough track leading to Sibenga's Kraal.
"Another example of 'Electricity in the Service of Man,'" remarked Herbert Narfield as he proceeded to disconnect the wires attached to the jar of water and a powerful battery. "So the old lab. at Stockmere proved a sound thing, eh, Colin? But I am afraid," he added gravely, "we haven't heardthe last of Sibenga and his missing horses. We'll have to keep our weather eye lifting, or some night the old reprobate will ply his people with stiff doses of native beer and send them down to Kilembonga to do a bit of Bolshevik work."
"Fighting?" asked Tiny.
"Hardly—perhaps, though. At any rate they'll probably try to fire the buildings and stampede the cattle. Just at present they've got the wind up pretty badly."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Colin, looking along the track. "There is a weird-looking fellow coming this way. What mischief is he up to?"
Thenew arrival was a native, strongly resembling a Cape Kaffir. He was tall, broad shouldered, and with thin legs—a characteristic that both lads had remarked on several previous occasions.
His "costume" consisted of a battered bowler, in the hat-band of which was stuck a tuft of long feathers; a red kersey tunic, with yellow facings and no buttons; a blue loin-cloth, and an old pair of pigskin gaiters falling loosely over otherwise bare legs.
In his right hand he carried a cleft stick, in which were inserted a couple of envelopes. In his left he held a short stabbing assegai, and a canvas satchel hung across his tunic.
"The Kilembonga postboy," explained Colonel Narfield. "Not a fat mail for us this time, I'm afraid."
The native, grinning broadly, tendered the forked end of his stick to the owner of Kilembonga, saluted when the envelopes were handed over, and set off steadily for the next house—a matter of a mere thirty-five miles.
"Nothing for you, lads," remarked Colonel Narfield, scanning the two envelopes. "Letters are a bit erratic out here. We generally get the English mail on Fridays. This, apparently is a supplementary delivery. Both these, I see, bear a South African stamp."
The first was merely a business letter. The second, Colonel Narfield read through twice before handing it to the boys.
It was a letter from Van der Wyck, posted from Mafeking eight days previously. The Afrikander thanked Colonel Narfield for his kind invitation, but regretted that his farm required all his attention during the present season, and that he hoped to find an opportunity of paying a visit to East Africa after the harvest. Not a word was mentioned of Colin and Desmond.
"This wants a little explanation," observed the Colonel. "I am curious to know more about your acquaintance, Van der Wyck, and also to find out what he knows of the Makoh'lenga country. So, without mentioning the matter to you, I wrote to the address he gave you, asking him to pay a visit to Kilembonga."
"Rather a long way to come," observed Colin.
"Yes," replied the Colonel. "I hardly expected that he would accept, but these Afrikanders are fond of paying visits, especially if they have a chance of renewing their acquaintance with the country in which they fought. It would be interesting to learn how many of the South Africans are contemplating revisiting Flanders, for instance.
"I don't mind admitting that I'm changing my opinion of Van der Wyck. I honestly thought that what he told you about the Makoh'lenga was all eye-wash; but there's something about that swastika of yours, Colin, that requires a considerable amount of explanation. The natives about here seem to hold the thing in awe. Witness Sibenga and his headman; both of them were greatly impressed by it. Then, again, from what you told me, Van der Wyck tried to dissuade you from coming into contact with the Makoh'lenga. Why? Evidently he knows more about them than I do. That's not much, as far as I'm concerned, I'll admit; but if they, or, at any rate, one section of the tribe, possess some priceless secret, I'd like to fathom it.
"Directly we get a chance, lads, we'll have a little expedition into the Makoh'lenga country—taking due precautions—and see if your swastika commands as much respect as it does amongst the natives around Kilembonga."
A little later on Colin and Tiny had an opportunity of discussing the matter between themselves.
"I wonder why the Colonel did write?" remarked Colin.
"P'raps he had his suspicion," suggested Desmond. "About that train hold-up, I mean."
"If he did, he's jolly well mistaken," rejoined Sinclair. "We were a bit doubtful about it, you'll remember; but I'm dashed if I am now. It is impossible for a man to be at Mafeking and within a few miles off Tabora within twenty-four hours, unless he flew in an aeroplane. And it's a dead cert. he didn't, 'cause someone would have been sure to spot the machine—the natives especially. The news would spread all over the country in a few hours."
"How?" asked Desmond.
"Ask me another," replied his chum. "All I know is that news is communicated by the natives with marvellous rapidity. The boys here knew that Colonel Narfield's car was burned within an hour of the accident, and you know we didn't leave the spot until dawn. No, it's my firm belief that Van der Wyck is white. The fellow who didn't relieve us of our spare cash and gear was like him in a good many respects, but it couldn't possibly have been Van der Wyck."
"Did you notice he didn't send us a message or even refer to us in his letter?" asked Desmond. "That was strange, wasn't it?"
"Yes," admitted Colin. "It was. There's no getting away from that fact. Possibly he was in a hurry and clean forgot. We'll have a line from him in due course, never fear ... I say, what's that? A dust storm?"
He pointed to a dark cloud moving close to the ground at a distance of a mile or a mile and a half from the house.
"Goodness knows!" replied Tiny. "It looks weird. Here's Tenpenny Nail. Let's ask him."
The Haussa, carrying two buckets full of water, was crossing the courtyard. At a shout from the lads he put down his burden and ran up.
"What's that, Tenpenny Nail?" asked Colin, pointing to the dark cloud, which, instead of coming straight towards the house (the wind was blowing in that direction), was moving obliquely, so that it seemed likely that the phenomenon would not approach sufficiently near to admit of a personal investigation.
For perhaps fifteen seconds Tenpenny Nail looked. Then a broad grin overspread his features.
"Him locust, Massa Colin," he replied. "Me go tell Colonel one time quick."
Then, with a haste that the broad grin belied, the Haussa ran towards the house. He reappeared quickly at the heels of Colonel Narfield, who was shouting for the rest of the "boys" to turn out and look sharp about it.
Catching sight of Colin and Desmond, the Colonel called to them to rout out everyone they could find.
"Set up a barrage of fire, lads," he added. "It's our only chance. If those insects do come this way, there won't be so much as a blade of grass nor a bit of green stuff left; and we haven't too much to lose as it is."
For the next few minutes all was rush and hurry. The natives, fully alive to the seriousness of the situation, brought out bundles of straw and cane. These they steeped with paraffin and laid in a huge ring, completely enclosing, but at a safe distance from the outer fence.
By the time these precautions were made, the locusts had changed directions and, avoiding the bare, sun-baked veldt, began to bear down upon the fields comprising part of the Kilembonga Estate.
Before them, terrified by the unusual sight of a wall of insects, came deer of all sorts. Hadthe lads not been otherwise engaged, they could have kept the larder going for a week, because, neglecting their ordinary sense of caution, the animals dashed by within a few yards of the still busily-employed men.
The swarm of locusts appeared to increase both in breadth and height. The sky was dark with them—a living, seething rampart that left utter desolation in the vegetable world in its track.
A dozen or more fires were started at once. Twenty feet or more the flames leapt skywards, topped by dense clouds of suffocating smoke. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands and even millions of locusts failed to pass the formidable barrier, but others did, until Colin and Desmond could hardly distinguish the insects from the smoke.
The hot, smoke-laden air was stiff with locusts. They swarmed everywhere, beating against the men's faces, dying in swarms until their corpses covered the ground to a depth of five or six inches.
Desperately everyone strove to keep the invaders at bay, but the task was a superhuman one. In half a dozen places a solid phalanx of locusts penetrated the ring of fire. Reckless of the death-dealing blows the natives delivered by means of sticks and branches, the insectsbegan their work of destruction. The green blades of the growing maize simply vanished.
At length the survivors of the swarm disappeared, leaving behind a gaunt expanse of ground piled deep with corpses. There remained a scene of desolation. The buildings were, of course, untouched, but every blade of grass, every vestige of vegetation had been devoured.
There was no rest for the weary smoke-dried men. The work of clearing up had to be commenced immediately. The dead locusts were picked up in shovelfuls and thrown into the fire. This was a precaution that, if neglected, would certainly cause a devastating disease should the dead insects putrefy.
It was nearly night before the task was completed. Colin and Desmond had learnt a practical lesson of what a plague of locusts meant. All ordinary work was at a standstill, while the destruction done by the insects had cost Colonel Narfield at least a couple of hundred pounds.
Nor did the trouble end there. Sibenga's kraal had been raided by the locusts with dire results. A witch-doctor, summoned by the chief, gave his decision as to the cause of the visitation. It was, he declared, caused by evil spirits, brought into the country by white men,and until the white men were driven out Sibenga would not prosper.
Drunk with native beer, Sibenga's followers applauded the witch doctor, and called on their chief to lead them against their nearest white neighbours. And these lived at Kilembonga.
"What'sdoin', old son?" inquired Tiny, a few days after the visitation of the plague of locusts.
It was a slack time. Colonel Narfield was down with one of his periodical attacks of malaria, and work, both in the laboratory and in the open air, was at a standstill. It was at the Colonel's suggestion that the two lads took a holiday.
"Let's ride over to Kana Kloof," suggested Colin. "There's bound to be some springbok about."
"Right-o," agreed his chum. "You see to the grub, and I'll saddle the horses. Tell Colonel Narfield where we're going."
Within a quarter of an hour the two chums were ready. Each was mounted on a small, wiry, and thoroughly "salted" horse, and carried a .303 sporting rifle and twenty-five cartridges.
As they rode towards the gate of the compound they encountered Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly.
"Want me, Massa Demon?" inquired the latter.
"No, thanks, Bluebottle," replied Tiny, laughing.
Sinclair also declined an offer on the part of Tenpenny Nail to accompany him. The two Haussas grinned.
"'Spects they want to push off on their own," observed Tiny. "They both looked mighty pleased with themselves when we told them they weren't required."
As a matter of fact, it was exactly the reverse. Both the Haussas wanted to go, and felt slighted at their respective masters' refusal. But since they were almost invariably grinning, it was not to be wondered at that Desmond had come to the conclusion that the Haussas were anxious to remain.
It was about twelve miles to Kana Kloof, where a "drift" or ford crosses a tributary of the Rubera River. The Kana, almost dry in the hot season and in a foaming torrent in the rainy season, flowed between steep, rocky banks, pierced here and there by gorges that enable people to cross without having to clamber down and climb the cliffs.
All the way there was not a single springbok or wilde-beeste sighted. There was spoor in plenty, but the swift-footed animals werenowhere to be seen, although the chums were going into the wind.
It was disappointing, especially as on a previous occasion, when Colonel Narfield was with them, the lads had sighted several and had succeeded in shooting a fine specimen of a gnu.
"Putrid, I call it!" exclaimed Tiny disgustedly, when, upon arriving at the Kloof, they dismounted and watered their horses. "Not a chance of even a single shot."
"This is all right!" said Colin, unbuckling his gaiters and taking off his boots. "I'm going to wade a bit. The bottom of the river's hard rock, and there are no crocodiles or hippos about. There are plenty of fish, though. Wish I'd brought a rod and line."
"Not much good bringing a rifle," said Tiny, who was still harping on the lack of sport. "Carrying unnecessary weight, that's what it is."
"Perhaps," suggested Colin, "there are lions about, and that's what has frightened the springbok. Of course, we wouldn't see them during the day. They'd be lurking in the scrub."
"We haven't seen the spoor of a lion, anyway," objected Desmond. "There must be some other reason."
They left it at that.
An hour later, after having a swim in adeep, clear pool and having had something to eat and drink, they prepared for the return journey.
"I believe there's a thunderstorm working up," remarked Colin, after about half the distance had been ridden. "Let's hurry a bit. It is no joke being caught out in the open in one of these storms."
But, unaccountably, both horses refused to increase their pace. It was not because they had been pressed. Throughout the ride the lads had ridden at quite a moderate pace, which was a mere crawl for the hardy little animals.
In fact, instead of responding to the gentle application of the spur, the animals stopped dead, refusing to move.
"What's wrong with the brutes?" inquired Tiny. "They've never jibbed at anything before."
"P'raps there's a lionin that patch of long grass," suggested Colin. "Since the horses won't go past the clump they'll jolly well have to go round it. Now, then, Brimstone."
The animals turned none too readily. For a few seconds Treacle, Tiny's mount, refused to budge. Then, seeing that the other horse was trotting ahead, Treacle broke into a mad gallop.
For a few yards Desmond gave him his head,glad to be able to get the animal to move at all. Then, finding he was greatly outpacing his chum, he managed to check Treacle's mad gallop.
By this time he had made a wide detour and was almost past the clump of tall reeds. Colin, making an easier curve, was about fifty yards behind and about twenty from the outside edge of the clump.
Suddenly Brimstone reared, nearly throwing his rider. Simultaneously something glittering in the sun flashed in front of Colin's eyes, and, sinking deeply into the ground a dozen yards away, quivered violently.
It was an assegai, one of the throwing variety. Two more followed in quick succession, one literally shaving Colin's bridle, and the other wounding the horse in the flank.
The next instant a dozen or more natives emerged from the reeds and sprang towards the astonished Colin.
They were Sibenga's warriors, naked, save for the leopard skin worn round their waists and their feathered rings on their arms and ankles. Every one had a head-ring of hard gum and tufts of ostrich feathers surmounting their close, crisp hair. One fellow, evidently the captain of the party, wore a kaross, or cloak of leopard skin. All carried ox-hide shields, kerries, and stabbing spears, besides a sheaf of throwing assegais.Maddened by the slight wound that he had received, Brimstone dashed madly forward, his rider unable to control his movements. While Tiny was endeavouring to check his horse, Colin was eager to increase the pace of his.
For an instant the natives hesitated as the maddened horse leapt forward. That instant saved Colin from being dragged from the saddle and assegaied. Even as it was, two more spears grazed his shoulders, and a knobkerrie whizzed perilously past his ear.
"Ride on for all you're worth!" shouted Colin, as he saw Desmond was reining in and unslinging his rifle. "I'm all right."
"Are you?" called Tiny in reply. "Look ahead!"
The chums were now a good hundred yards beyond the ambush, but the warriors were running swiftly in pursuit. Sinclair knew that they hadn't the slightest chance of outpacing two fairly swift horses, so why did they persist in following?
The answer was soon apparent. Desmond knew it already, for at less than a quarter of a mile ahead and stretching out in a far-flung semi-circle, were at least a hundred of Sibenga's warriors, and with them the chief himself, accompanied by the witch doctor in full regalia.
Both lads realised that they were in a desperately tight corner. Something had to be done, and that quickly. To remain where they were meant death under the keen blades of the assegais; to get away meant dashing through the cordon of armed warriors.
With the exception of their rifles, Colin and Desmond were unarmed, and a sporting magazine rifle is an awkward weapon to use while mounted. But it was infinitely better than nothing at all. Holding their rifles by the small of the butt and opening the cut-out of the magazine, the trapped chums set spurs to their horses and dashed forward to where it seemed the line was most lightly held.
Nobly Brimstone and Treacle responded to the call. It was touch-and-go. Already Sibenga's warriors, guessing the desperate white men's plan, began to bunch together to intercept them.
Holding the reins lightly with their left, and keeping their rifles obliquely across the pommel of the saddle, Colin and Desmond tore towards the bronzed line of natives.A few throwing spears flew towards them.Shields were brandished in the hope that the commotion would scare the horses.
Then both rifles spoke. It was impossible to take aim, but the moral effect told. In an instant the lads were dashing between thewarriors. Colin had a momentary vision of bringing the brass-bound butt of his rifle violently against the face of a ferocious-looking fellow and feeling the latter's throwing-spear graze his ribs.
Desmond, firing with the muzzle of his rifle almost touching a broad-shouldered warrior, had only just time to raise the still-smoking weapon to guard a blow from a kerrie aimed by the man even as the bullet struck him fairly in the chest.
"We're through!" exclaimed Colin aloud, though speaking to himself; but the next instant Brimstone faltered, staggered a few yards, and then collapsed, throwing his rider at full length upon the sun-baked ground.
Hardlyknowing how he did it, Colin regained his feet. His rifle lay close at hand. He picked it up and, with his face to the foe, prepared to resist to the last.
It seemed incredible to him that during the brief interval between the dash through the line of warriors and the collapse of his horse that Sinclair had covered nearly a quarter of a mile. He had lost all sense of time and distance until he found himself standing alone, with Brimstone kicking and struggling on the ground, with three assegais deeply embedded in the animal's flank.
Sibenga's warriors were approaching rapidly, yelling shouts of triumph. The nearmost was now barely a hundred and fifty yards away, while right and left the natives were converging upon the dismounted lad.
Raising his rifle, Colin fired thrice in quick succession. In his excitement he aimed wildly, and the bullets failed to find a billet other than the earth.
Again he ejected an empty cartridge and thrust home the bolt. Taking steadier aim,he pressed the trigger. A faint click was the only response. He had fired the last cartridge in the magazine and the rest of the ammunition was in a leather pouch fastened to Brimstone's saddle.
Resisting the temptation to turn and run—the swift-footed natives would have overtaken him in a very few minutes—Colin stood with his face to his foes and his feet planted firmly and his clubbed rifle held ready to make a desperate fight for life.
Sibenga's men were now so close that he could distinctly see the whites of their eyes. Realising that the lad was out of ammunition, they came on unhesitatingly. The rifle was now no better, and probably less efficacious, than their own keen-edged weapons.
The thud of a horse's hoofs diverted Colin's attention. Glancing over his shoulder he saw, to his great surprise, that Desmond had ridden back to him. He felt a wave of resentment; it seemed an absurd act on Tiny's part to barge in and face a peril from which he could have escaped. At the same time, he was grateful to his chum for his whole-hearted devotion.
Making no attempt to dismount, Tiny wheeled his horse and reined in the now-tractable animal.
"Jump up, old man!" he shouted.
Sinclair lost no time in accepting the invitation. Now that he had his face turned from the warriors he was in a "blue funk." Almost mechanically slinging his rifle across his back, he grasped Tiny's saddle and flung himself over Treacle's back.
"Right-o!" he shouted.
Desmond set spurs. The wiry animal responded nobly, while his twin burden, bending low as half a dozen assegais whizzed perilously close to them, were in no happy state of mind with the possibility of feeling sharp steel spear-heads plunging into their backs.
In a few minutes Treacle drew out of throwing range, or else the warriors thought it an unnecessary act to hurl their assegais, as they stood an excellent chance of overtaking the doubly-laden horse.
"We're doing all right!" exclaimed Tiny breathlessly. "Only about four miles more."
Colin, glancing at the bronze-coloured natives, did not feel so sure about it. Their pursuers were bunching together. Those on the extreme tips of the "horn" had already relinquished pursuit, but about thirty were covering the ground at a pace only slightly less than that of the horse. They could keep that up for miles. The question was whether Treacle could be relied upon to maintain his speed, hampered as he was by an additional rider.
Sinclair during his stand at bay, had thought of the swastika; but he had great doubts whether the highly-excited warriors would pay heed to the symbol that had so greatly impressed Sibenga himself.
It seemed hardly likely; and on that account Colin decided that an amulet was a sorry defence against the cruel, stabbing assegais. So he had declined the experiment, preferring to face his foes as bravely as he knew how, rather than to seek a doubtful mercy through the medium of a barbaric charm.
Happening to glance at his right shoulder, he was surprised to see that his shirt was torn and that the swastika was exposed. In the excitement the amulet which he wore round his neck must have slipped. In its present position it had turned the point of an assegai, the blade of the weapon inflicting a slight scratch that Colin hardly noticed until he saw the blood staining his shirt-sleeve.
For the next five minutes the relative position of pursuers and pursued underwent no appreciable change. Treacle was running splendidly and showing no sign of distress.
The two chums were congratulating themselves on the fact, when the animal began to slow down.
Very reluctantly Treacle was being vanquished. The heavy burden, the hard groundand the blazing sun, and the thundery weather all went against him; and although his spirit was equal to the task, his bodily strength was failing him.
In vain Desmond coaxed the jaded animal. His pace fell away to such an extent that both Colin and Tiny saw with considerable apprehension that the warriors were gaining rapidly.
Of the original pursuers several had fallen out, leaving about fifteen or eighteen athletic warriors to enjoy the pleasurable task of overtaking and assegaiing the two white men.
"Any ammunition handy?" asked Colin. "Mine's finished."
"Take half a dozen cartridges from my belt, old man," replied Tiny. "We'll give the beggars a run for their money. Poor old Treacle!"
With a stupendous effort the horse staggered another twenty yards; his hind legs gave way; he stopped, neighing pitifully.
Without hesitation Colin slipped to the ground. Relieved of the additional weight, Treacle started forward again, Sinclair running and holding on to Desmond's stirrup.
But this attempt to carry on was unavailing. The animal was done. It was a final spurt, and Treacle could do no more. First his front legs, and then his hind, collapsed. He rolled on his side on the hard ground, kicking in agony.
Desmond had slipped out of his saddle in time. His first act was to put the animal out of his pain, which he did by shooting him in the forehead. Then, thrusting another cartridge into the breech of his rifle, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his chum and prepared to put up a fight to a finish.
The two nearmost warriors were now but twenty paces off. Crouching behind their hide shields and thinking themselves thereby immune, they stopped and awaited the others to come up.
"Take the one on your right, Tiny," exclaimed Colin, bringing his rifle to his shoulder.
But before either lad could fire, two reports rang out almost simultaneously from a belt of scrub barely eighty yards away, and three of the natives staggered and fell face downwards.
The chums accounted for two more, and then the mysterious but friendly rifles began firing rapidly.
The pursuit was stayed. Of the men in the forefront of the chase only seven remained standing, and these took to their heels and fled towards the main body of Sibenga's warriors.
Colin and Desmond were not left long in doubt as to the identity of their rescuers, for above the reeds appeared the grinning faces of Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly.