Thetwo Haussas excitedly greeted their respective masters. Their previous disappointment was forgotten. Absolutely devoted to Colin and Desmond, their joy at being able to render them a good turn was unbounded.
It was quite by a lucky accident that Tenpenny Nail and his companion were on the right spot and at the right time.
Almost as soon as Sinclair and Desmond had ridden away, the two Haussas agreed to go out for an afternoon's shooting. They went. They shot nothing. They felt "fed up."
Then Tenpenny Nail suggested that they should sit down and palaver. The utter scarcity of sport they accounted for by reasoning that their young masters had driven the springbok away.
Blue Fly agreed that this was the reason, and suggested that if they waited long enough "Demon" and his companion would drive the springbok in front of them as they returned.They were, he said, almost sure to come home by that path.
So the Haussas basked in the sunshine until the reports of several rifle shots stirred them into activity. Grinning at each other, they grasped their rifles as they pictured the discomfiture of their young masters when they discovered that they had obligingly driven the springbok within easy range of the Haussas' rifles.
But when Colin and Desmond appeared in view, not as hunters but as hunted, Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly acted promptly, and a rapid emptying of magazines quickly turned the tables on the advance party of Sibenga's warriors.
"No jolly well make mark time, Massa; niggah him come."
He pointed in the direction of the main body of the black raiders, who were now advancing in close formation to the support of the luckless pursuers of Colin and Tiny.
"Right-o, Tenpenny Nail," replied Sinclair. "Buck up, Tiny! It's only another mile or so."
The four promptly set out for Kilembonga, their pace considerably accelerated by the knowledge that there were between eighty or a hundred keen stabbing spears at less than a couple of miles behind them.Encumbered with their rifles and wearing heavy boots and leggings, Colin and Tiny, already pretty well done up, found those two miles a hard task. On the other hand, the two Haussas, in spite of being barefooted, hardly noticed the hard, sun-baked ground.
Long before Sinclair and Desmond arrived at the gate in the outer fence they were glad to hand their rifles over to their faithful servants.
Leaving the Haussas to turn out and arm the native employees, the two chums hurried to Colonel Narfield's room.
"Bless my soul!" ejaculated the Colonel, upon seeing the two well-nigh breathless lads. "What on earth are you doing, getting overheated on a day like this? Where have you been?"
"To Kana Kloof," replied Colin. "We were ambushed by armed natives on our way back—Sibenga's people. They are on their way here."
Colonel Narfield sprang from his bed. Although weak and shivering, he was not going to knuckle under to a dose of malaria when a horde of rebellious blacks were hammering at his gate.
Pausing only to up-end his boots and shake them—a necessary precaution in a country where poisonous centipedes abound—he drewon his foot-gear, donned a light coat and sun-helmet, then, snatching up a rifle and thrusting a packet of cartridges into his pocket, he hurried out of the house, followed by his two assistants.
Already every available man on the estate had turned out, each armed either with a magazine rifle or a double-barrelled twelve-bore gun.
Some of the natives were good shots; others could not be trusted to hit a beehive hut at twenty yards. To the latter Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly had issued shot-guns. With luck, the wide-spreading shot might hit some human target. In any case, there was the moral effect of the loud report to be taken into consideration, and that told upon savage warriors almost as much as the more deadly rifles.
By this time Sibenga had brought his followers to within two hundred yards of the gate. By the Chief's side stood the witch-doctor, a truly hideous figure in his garb of monkey skins, red ochre and blue and white chalk.
The warriors made no attempt to surround the place. Had they done so, their tactics might almost to a certainty be crowned with success, for there was not enough defenders to man the outer wall.
Instead, Sibenga's followers were massed in a triple line, each man covered by his cow-hide shield, while right in front of the centre of the foremost rank stood the Chief and the witch-doctor, the latter apparently haranguing the warriors and promising them immunity from the white man's magic.
Colonel Narfield lost no time. He was a firm believer in taking the initiative. Calling to four of the best marksmen, he ordered them to take aim at Sibenga and the witch-doctor, while he stood by ready to fire should the others miss their objective.
Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly were the two told off to bring down the witch-doctor, while the others, including the Colonel's personal servant, a Zanzibari, aimed at Sibenga's broad chest as he stood gazing at the house in which he hoped to find plenty of plunder.
The witch-doctor had finished his oration and had turned to confer with the Chief. The former raised his magic staff and shook it. Even as he did so four rifles spoke as one.
There was no need for Colonel Narfield to complete the business. The witch-doctor sprang a good four feet into the air, his hands clutching wildly. Then, uttering a blood-curdling yell, he pitched forward on his face,twitched his limbs for a second, and then lay still. Sibenga stood stock still for quite an appreciable time, then his legs gave way, and he dropped, first on his knees and then on his face.
Not only did the high-velocity bullets slay the principal men of the attacking party, but three or four warriors immediately behind Sibenga and the witch-doctor fell dead.
For a few moments the natives stood absolutely still, unable to realise what had befallen their Chief and their comrades. Then the ranks broke. Some began to give back; others, uttering terrific yells, bounded forward, crouching behind their shields as they dashed towards the gate.
It was a forlorn hope. Not a single man of Sibenga's followers got within twenty yards of the stockade. Several were shot dead; others, wounded and peppered with dust-shot, were soon limping back towards their more fortunate companions, who, showing more discretion than valour, had either remained still or had run before the desperate warriors had attempted their futile charge.
A quarter of an hour later not a single warrior capable of flight remained in sight. Eleven dead and four badly-wounded men were left lying outside the stockade in additionto Sibenga, the witch-doctor, and those who had fallen with them.
The only casualties to Colonel Narfield's party was a man wounded in the arm by a throwing-assegai, and a native porter hit on the head by a kerrie hurled by one of the attackers.
Upon examination it was found that two bullets had pierced the witch-doctor's heart, while Sibenga had been killed instantaneously by a bullet that had passed completely through his head.
Three days later Wynyard, the Assistant Commissioner of Nyaruma, arrived with a party of armed police. Sibenga's successor quickly tendered his submission. The tribe was severely admonished and made to pay a fine, including four horses, to be handed over to Colonel Narfield to recompense him for the loss of Brimstone and Treacle.
Thus the affair, which, had Sibenga been successful at the onset, would have possibly developed into a serious native rising, was promptly quashed, and a menace to the quiet and security of Kilembonga Estate was removed.
For nearly a week Mr. Wynyard remained in the district, spending his leisure hours at Colonel Narfield's house. When he returned with his small armed force, Colin and Tinyrode thirty miles on the road to Nyaruma, spending the night in a bivouac at the foot of the T'saga Mountains.
Next morning they said good-bye to the old Stockmere boy and set off on the homeward ride. This they accomplished almost without incident.
On the step of the house they found the Colonel giving directions to a workman.
"Back again, I see," he remarked cheerfully. "No adventures this time, I hope? Good! Now, look sharp and change. There's someone to see you. Guess who."
"I don't know, sir," replied Colin. "We know no one here except Wynyard."
Desmond was equally at a loss.
"Do we know him?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Colonel Narfield. "Someone who has arrived unexpectedly, although at my invitation. Now, can't you make a shot at it?"
"Not Van der Wyck?" asked both lads simultaneously.
"Yes," answered the Colonel. "He's in the stables looking after his horse. He insisted upon doing that himself. Get a move on, and be ready to welcome your pal when he returns."
Ten minutes later, Colin and Desmond,having washed and changed their dusty clothes, went across to the stables.
"Him there, sah," reported Blue Fly, with his usual broad grin.
Eagerly and delightedly the two chums threw open the door. Then they stood stock still in utter astonishment.
Itwas an embarrassing situation. To expect to find a friend and be confronted by an utter stranger was decidedly disconcerting. The chums found themselves wishing that they had not been so exuberant.
Instead of the tall, bearded Piet Van der Wyck, they saw a sparely-built, grey-haired and white-bearded man of between sixty and seventy, who was busily engaged in wiping down the legs of a black horse.
Perhaps, after all, Van der Wyck was somewhere in the stables, and this old man was one of his friends who had accompanied him on his long trek. Colonel Narfield had not mentioned that Van der Wyck had a companion, but that might have been an omission.
The old man desisted from his task and straightened himself laboriously. Then he looked at the two chums. Of the three he was the least concerned. In a strange place he naturally expected to meet strangers.
"Good day!" he exclaimed slowly, in English, with the accent common to the Cape Dutch when speaking any language but their own.
"Good day," replied Colin. "We rather startled you when we barged in here. We came to see Mr. Van der Wyck."
"I am Van der Wyck," replied the stranger gravely.
"Piet Van der Wyck of Mafeking?" asked Sinclair in astonishment.
"Piet Van der Wyck, of Erasmus Farm, near Mafeking," corrected the old man courteously. "I do not know you, but that is a matter that can soon be put right."
"Of course," agreed Colin heartily. He realised that there was a mistake somewhere, and he was too considerate to tell the old man bluntly that he was not the person that Colonel Narfield had invited to Kilembonga.
He introduced Tiny and himself to the old farmer, and suggested that they should help him to finish grooming the horse.
"No, no," was the decided reply. "I have ridden Zwart Hans for fifteen years, and have always attended to him myself. You are the sons of Colonel Narfield?"
Colin hastened to correct the false impression.
"Is that so?" asked the farmer with atrace of disappointment. "From the Colonel's kind letter of invitation I understood that Colin and Tiny were his children."
"You have had a long journey," remarked Tiny.
"Ah, yes; five days on the train. I rode most of the way in the horse-box so as to keep Zwart Hans company. Then there was the horrible voyage for me who had never before been in a ship; and I am sixty-nine come Christmas. True, it was on a large lake, but we were long out of sight of land until we neared Ujiji. Allemachte! And to think I have to return that way!"
"It was a long journey," agreed Sinclair.
"Yes," rejoined the old man simply, "it was. But the kind Colonel's invitation, together with the fact that I had a nephew who fell fighting the Germans and who is buried just outside Tabora, were sufficient inducements for me to undertake the trek."
"You have other relations in this country, perhaps?" asked Desmond.
The farmer shook his head.
"None," he replied. "I had sons and nephews, but they are dead. But now I have finished my task. We will return to the house."
The two chums saw that there were rocks ahead. Colonel Narfield ought to be warnedthat a mistake had been made somewhere, but at the same time Farmer Van der Wyck ought not to be allowed to know that he was a guest through misapprehension. It seemed impossible to find an excuse to see the Colonel alone, and yet—— Suddenly an inspiration flashed across Sinclair's mind. "Right-o!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Come along, Tiny; we'll take Mr. Van der Wyck back to the house."
Desmond tumbled to it. In order to make things easier, they were to pretend that the old farmer wastheVan der Wyck until they found an opportunity of letting Colonel Narfield know the exact position of affairs. But Colin managed to scribble a note and give it to Tenpenny Nail, with instructions to hand it to the Colonel.
But, alas! for that scheme.
Colonel Narfield, courteous and hospitable, beamed on the old farmer as he entered the house with Colin and Desmond hanging on to his arms.
"Now," he exclaimed, "you must be hungry, Mr. Van der Wyck. The boys have had a long journey, too, but not so long as yours."
"Ah, no," agreed the old man. "Mine was a long journey. And the ship! At my age! It was the first time I was on the water."
"Eh, what!"exclaimed Colonel Narfield insurprise. "I thought——"
A bang on the door saved the situation. Tenpenny Nail entered, with a grin on his face and a piece of paper screwed up in his hand.
"Pencil-talk him come, sah!" he announced.
"Who from?" asked Colonel Narfield, taking a note, for communications of that description were few and far between in and around the Kilembonga Estate.
"Me make ask Blue Fly—him tell," said the Haussa equivocally.
However, the Colonel did not press the point. His own question was a superfluous one. It would be answered when he read the note.
It was in Colin's handwriting, and read as follows:
"There is a mistake somewhere. This is not our Van der Wyck. We'll tell you when we have a chance of seeing you alone. Please don't say anything to upset the old man; he's rather a good sort.—COLIN."
"All right, Tenpenny Nail," said the Colonel. "No answer."
He gave a confirmatory glance at Sinclair and then turned to Van der Wyck.
"Hope you'll excuse me," he remarked. "There's something that demands my immediate attention. The boys will entertain you, I know."
He went out, considering that, in the circumstances, it was the best thing to do. Had he remained, he would have had to take part in the conversation, which was likely to reach an awkward stage. Until he knew how matters stood he preferred to keep out of the way.
Colin and Tiny played their part well. Keeping to general topics, they maintained a full-head of steam until the somewhat retiring old farmer began to feel quite at home, still more so when, at the conclusion of the meal, black coffee was served and a bag of Boer tobacco placed at Van der Wyck's disposal.
It was not until the evening that the chums found Colonel Narfield alone.
"You've landed yourselves in a pretty hole," he remarked with a laugh. "Saddling yourselves with the wrong man."
"It was your scheme, sir," Colin reminded him. "We knew nothing about your having invited him until a few weeks ago. It's a strange coincidence: he has the same box-office—No. 445—as the number the other Van der Wyck gave us."
"Evidently your pal knows this fellow," remarked Colonel Narfield. "For some reason he's working a double stunt. By-the-bye, didyou ask our guest if he knew of a certain Jan Groute?"
"The fellow who held up the train near Vryburg?" asked Desmond.
Colonel Narfield nodded.
"We didn't," replied both lads.
"Then I would, if I were you," suggested the Colonel. "His reply may be interesting. However, I've invited Mr. Van der Wyck here, and we must do our duty as hosts and make him comfortable. You say he's a decent sort?"
"Absolutely," declared Colin.
"Right-o; carry on," added the Colonel. "I've had some good times on Boer farms, and it's up to us to show that we can be hospitable, too. We'll give him as good a holiday as we know how."
TheEnglishmen at Kilembonga acted up to their resolution. They gave Farmer Van der Wyck a rattling good time, and although the old man was a bit reticent at first, he soon emerged from his shell.
He would talk for hours, relating incidents and anecdotes of life in the Transvaal long before Johannesburg was in existence. He told of his experiences fighting against the British, first at Laing's Nek and Majuba, and then, almost twenty years later, at Magersfontein and Paardeberg.
Then, with the utmost simplicity, he explained how he, like thousands of his fellow-Boers, changed his allegiance, because the English knew how to keep their word.
"By-the-bye," remarked Colonel Narfield, when the old farmer was relating anecdotes concerning his neighbours, "did you ever happen to come across a man called Jan Groute?"
Farmer Van der Wyck nodded his head gravely, and continued puffing meditatively at his pipe for several seconds before he replied:
"I know of him; but I have never met him, as far as I am aware."
No more was said at the time. Colonel Narfield could form no excuse for asking for further information, and Piet Van der Wyck showed no inclination to speak further about the train bandit.
It was not until two days later that the old farmer himself broached the subject.
"You spoke of Jan Groute," he said. "He is no good. For several years the police have tried to arrest him, but without success. The nearest they did was to shoot him through the leg near Beaufort West. After that he disappeared. I heard it said that he sailed to England or America, taking with him a lot of diamonds, for, besides being a train bandit, he is an I.D.B."
"What's that, Mr. Van der Wyck?" asked Tiny.
"An illicit diamond buyer," explained Colonel Narfield—"a man who buys diamonds from natives instead of through the recognised channels. It's a serious offence in South Africa. But what happened to Jan Groute after his return?"
"Do you know him, Colonel Narfield?" inquired the old farmer pointedly. "You seem much interested."
"Because I fancy he was at work on theTabora Railway," replied the Colonel. "Colin and Desmond were in a hold-up, and from what they told me the description somewhat points to the fact that the chiefrobber was Jan Groute."
"When was that?" asked Piet Van der Wyck.
Colin supplied that information.
The old man shook his head.
"It is unlikely—very," he replied. "There were reliable reports that Jan was busy near Bloemfontein for several weeks after the Vryburg hold-up. He could not be in places two thousand miles apart within a few hours."
"No," rejoined Colonel Narfield. Then, turning to Colin, he said: "Show Mynheer Van der Wyck your talisman, and see what he thinks of it."
The old farmer took the swastika and held it at arm's length. Then, unable to see the characters on it, he pulled out a magnifying-glass.
"One of the drawbacks of old age," he explained. "Although I can see things very clearly at long distances—few men on the veldt can discover a hartebeeste quicker than I—it is close work that troubles me. Ah, this is rather a rare piece of work—copper and gold. The shape is fairly common. You will find similar articles amongst all the Kaffirtribes, from the Cape right up to Mashonaland and Matabeleland. Beyond that it is not so common, although I haven't had so much to do with the natives beyond the Limpopo River, so I may be wrong. Where did you find it, Colin?"
"Someone gave it to me when the mail-boat was nearing Cape Town," replied the lad, not caring to mention that the donor bore the name of Van der Wyck. "It has proved very useful at times when dealing with the natives."
"I can understand that," agreed Piet Van der Wyck. "It is a pity it has been dented."
"Dented!" echoed Colonel Narfield. "Where?"
"Oh, that," replied Colin carelessly. "That was a sort of accident the other day."
"What accident?" demanded the Colonel.
"When Sibenga's people chased Tiny and me," explained Sinclair. "Somehow the amulet worked round over my shoulder. A nigger flung a throwing assegai, and the thing struck the swastika. Yes, it cut the skin a bit, but not much."
"You ought to have told me at once," said Colonel Narfield. "Even a slight superficial cut like that might have proved dangerous or, perhaps, fatal. Frequently these throwing-assegais are made of copper or a soft alloy, sothat they bend on impact with a hard substance, and cannot be returned with interest by the person at whom they are thrown, and as you know, a wound inflicted with a copper weapon is apt to be poisonous. What is your impression of this part of the country, Van der Wyck?"
"It is totally different to the veldt," replied the farmer. "There ought to be good maize crops raised on the level ground, but the mountains .... To men like myself they appear stupendous and magnificent, but they are worthless from a farmer's point of view. Several of my countrymen have trekked here and taken up land from the Government. You have plenty of springbok, I see."
"Are you fond of shooting?" asked Tiny.
The old man's eyes glistened.
"I am not yet past that," he replied. "In my younger days, before the big game was driven northward, I have shot both lions and elephants in the Transvaal and Bechuanaland."
"We may be able to give you some big-game shooting before you go," remarked Colonel Narfield.
Before Van der Wyck could reply, there came a knock at the door and Blue Fly appeared.
"Sibenga mans, dey come make palaver one time, sah," he reported.
The former followers of the late and unlamented chief had been very docile of late. They had been taught a stiff lesson, and its results were bearing lasting fruit. Colonel Narfield had also learnt a lesson from the little affair. He realised that, when dealing with natives of East Africa, a conciliatory attitude is invariably misconstrued by the blacks as a sign of weakness.
No doubt the natives judged Englishmen by comparing them with their former German masters. The latter were harsh and tyrannical, and were held in awe by the inhabitants of the country. The Englishmen, being easy-going and generally kind-hearted, were regarded as being of inferior fibre to the Germans for that very reason.
"Tell them to wait, Blue Fly," replied Colonel Narfield. "They can stand in the sun until I am ready to see them."
On principle, the Colonel kept the deputation waiting for nearly an hour; then, telling Colin and Tiny to arm themselves, and buckling on his revolver, the owner of the Kilembonga Estate went out to receive the deputation.
Seated in cane chairs on the stoep, the three Englishmen awaited the native headmen. The latter came forward with profound humility—a great contrast to their former appearance at the gate of Kilembonga—and they took goodcare to leave their assegais and shields outside. One of the natives, stepping forward, announced himself as Logula.
"I know you, Logula," said Colonel Narfield. "You may speak."
"Great One!" exclaimed Logula, "we seek your help. Our kraals and our fields are in danger."
"They were," admitted Colonel Narfield, "when Sibenga came here with armed men, thinking to do great deeds. Who are the men of whom you are afraid?"
"None, lord," replied Sibenga's successor. "Not men, but beasts. Last night, before the setting of the moon, a bull elephant and two cow elephants did great mischief amongst our kraals. Five of our people were killed, and our spears are as sticks against the huge beasts. Therefore we are come, O Great One, to implore your aid. With iron tubes that smoke, surely, O Great One, you can slay them."
The owner of Kilembonga turned to his guest, who was watching the scene through the large open window.
"Would you care to have a little sport, Mynheer Van der Wyck?" he asked.
"Only too delighted," was the prompt response.
"Listen, Logula," said the Colonel. "This is my answer. At the setting of the sun we will be at your kraal. If there are twenty of your men whose hearts are not filled with water, let them be ready to drive the bull elephant and the cow elephants up to the iron tubes that smoke of the mighty hunters. I have spoken."
The deputation made obeisance and withdrew, obviously impressed by the determination and confidence of the white man to rid the district of these formidable beasts.
"May we go too, sir?" asked Colin eagerly.
Colonel Narfield hesitated.
"Yes," he replied, after deliberation; "but only on certain conditions. This is a very risky business, and you are quite inexperienced at this sort of game. I know you've both plenty of pluck, but that isn't everything. An African elephant has a brute of a temper. His Indian cousin is a lamb compared with him, and it requires a tremendous amount of nerveto aim accurately at a ponderous beast charging on you at full tilt. Usually a man has an almost irresistible tendency to cut and run for it; in which case, unless there is ample cover of a very solid nature, he is quickly overtaken and trampled underfoot. Isn't that so, Van der Wyck?"
"Ja," agreed the Afrikander solemnly; "but there, Colonel Narfield, I have an advantage. Although I am active in many ways, I cannot run. Therefore I must stand my ground. There is one good thing. It is no longer necessary to have a heavy elephant-gun. Mine, I remember, served me badly once. It missed fire, and a bull elephant was but thirty paces off. Fortunately, there was a strong tree handy; but even then the brute nearly uprooted it, and it was all I could do to hold on to a big branch without being shaken off."
"How did you escape?" asked Tiny.
"I remained where I was for four long hours," replied Van der Wyck. "Then three of my companions came to look for me. One of them broke the elephant's foreleg with a bullet in the knee. It took three more shots with a heavy elephant-gun to finish the brute."
"That was before explosive bullets came into use, I take it?" inquired Colonel Narfield.
"Yes," answered the old man, "longbefore; and a man could not depend upon the ammunition as he does nowadays. But, even then, it is a risky business for inexperienced men, this elephant-hunting."
"You hear that, boys?" asked Colonel Narfield. "You can come with us on conditions—that you keep at least a hundred paces behind Van der Wyck and me when we're following the spoor, and leave the shooting to us."
Colin and Desmond accepted the terms, although inwardly they jibbed, considering it hard lines to have to be content to remain passive spectators in the killing of a bull elephant. It was a case of half a loaf being better than no bread.
For the next couple of hours Colonel Narfield was engaged in overhauling his rifles and ammunition. The rifles were of .303 bore, firing an explosive bullet with a hard steel point. One of the rifles he lent to Van der Wyck, whose own gun was of a Mauser pattern and unable to take the explosive ammunition.
Colin and Tiny also took their sporting rifles, with bullets of an expanding type.
Accompanying the party were the three Haussas and a Cape Kaffir, told off to act as bearer to Van der Wyck. All were mounted on small, wiry ponies, although the actual hunt was to be performed on foot.
With several minutes to the good, Colonel Narfield's party arrived at Sibenga's Kraal, for although the chief was dead the village still went by the same name until Logula had fully established his claim to the chieftainship.
There was no lack of evidence of the destructive visits of the three elephants. Acres of maize and millet had been trampled down; the palisade surrounding the village had been uprooted in several places, leaving gaps ten or twelve yards in length; while in two instances the huts had been levelled to the ground.
Most of the inhabitants, including all the women and children, had fled for safety to the summit of a lofty crag about two miles away, but Logula had carried out Colonel Narfield's instructions and had gathered together twenty young warriors.
Of these, ten were selected to act as torch-bearers, the remainder having to be in attendance with their spears in case they were attacked. The natives were all excited, their fears being to a great extent banished when they found that the Great One and his companions had arrived with their death-dealing rifles.
Leaving the horses at the village, the Colonel's party set out. Van der Wyck and Colonel Narfield led, followed by Colin andTiny and the inseparable Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly, while the natives flocked in the rear.
There was no difficulty in following the spoor. The ground was somewhat marshy, and in places the massive feet of the elephants had sunk inches deep in the soft soil.
One thing was evident. The animals had wandered into a sort of naturalcul de sacbetween two ridges of precipitous rock, the bottle-neck opening into a wide track of reed-covered ground nearly five miles in length and averaging three in breadth.
At the entrance to this trap some of the natives were told to build a barrier of fire and to take good care to keep it well alight. Before the march was resumed, the hunters had the satisfaction of seeing a wall of flame blazing fiercely and completely sealing the only exit possible for the huge, ferocious beasts.
"You are sure that there is no way out at the other end?" inquired Van der Wyck.
"The natives say not," replied Colonel Narfield. "Of course, I know that telling lies is, with them, as easy as winking when it serves their purpose. But we're doing them a good turn, so it's to their advantage to speak the truth."
It wanted a good three hours to the setting of the moon, but there was sufficient light to follow the spoor—the three-toed and four-toedprints in the ground, for, unlike the Indian elephant, the African one has but three toes on his hind feet.
Presently, after the hunters had advanced about a mile, the almost indescribable trumpeting of a bull elephant disturbed the silence of the tropical night.
"Now, you fellows," exclaimed Colonel Narfield, addressing Colin and Tiny, "see that tree? You'll get a comprehensive view of the show from the lowermost branch. Up you go, and don't forget the safety-catches of your rifles. The brute's in that scrub, and I'm sending the beaters to drive him this way."
If the truth be told, the lads were not sorry to take to the tree. The stupendous trumpeting rather "gave them the breeze," and the knowledge that they were in a place of security and not confronted by the possibility of facing a huge elephant in the open was decidedly comforting.
Waving flaming torches, seven or eight natives worked round to the back of the patch of long grass surrounding a hollow. In the centre of the hollow was a shallow pool, in which the elephant was disporting himself, and consequently his enormous bulk was invisible from the spot where the Colonel and Van der Wyck had taken their stand.
Suddenly the trumpeting ceased. The elephant had scented danger.
image: 05_tendril.jpg{Illustration: "HIS FOOT CAUGHT IN A TRAILING TENDRIL AND HE CRASHED HEAVILY" [p.174}
Until the brute made up his mind what course to pursue he remained silent, and the silence was almost as disquieting to the inexperienced youths as had been the terrific trumpeting.
In about a quarter of an hour a dense smoke rose sullenly in the moonlit air. The natives were firing the grass in order to smoke the elephant from his cover. Then arose the yells and shouts of the beaters as they advanced through the scrub, waving their torches and gesticulating like demons.
Above the uproar rose the loud bellowing of the now infuriated animal. Nearer and nearer came the sound, until above the waving grass appeared a dark grey mountain of flesh—one of the biggest bull elephants that Colonel Narfield had ever seen.
Clear of the scrub, the huge beast paused irresolutely. Then he caught sight of the Colonel standing in the open with his rifle held at the ready. It was a mute challenge, and the elephant promptly picked up the gage.
Bellowing furiously and waving his trunk in the air, the ponderous animal charged. To the watchers in the tree it seemed incredible that such a heavily-built brute could move at such a pace as it did.
They had previously imagined an elephant to be a slow-moving beast, with an average speedof five miles an hour. This one was charging at a pace equal at least to that of a trotting horse.
Colonel Narfield waited until the elephant was sixty yards away. Then slowly and deliberately raising his rifle to his shoulder, he pressed the trigger.
An involuntary cry burst from Colin's lips as his quick ear caught the sound of a faint click. The cartridge was a "dud"—a defective one.
In a trice the Colonel ejected the cartridge and replaced it with another. The elephant was now but thirty yards away. Again the striker clicked ineffectively.
Realising that his one chance lay in seeking flight—for there was not time to place a third cartridge into the breech and fire—Colonel Narfield threw aside the now useless weapon and took to his heels. Before he had covered half a dozen yards his foot caught in a trailing tendril, and he crashed heavily on the ground.
Fromtheir elevated perch Colin and Tiny had been watching the beginning of the encounter with feelings akin to awe. The elephant of their imagination had been completely dwarfed by this enormous bulk—the furious, bellowing behemoth. They clung tightly to the limb of the tree, hardly conscious that they were doing so, their whole attention being centred upon the scene below.
But when Colonel Narfield tripped and fell, the two chums were stirred to action. In an instant came the realisation that they were not spectators, but participators in the game of death.
Desmond, lowering his rifle, fired hurriedly at the huge animal. Whether he hit the elephant or not, the bullet made not the slightest apparent impression upon the brute. In his anxiety for the Colonel's safety, Tiny simply had to fire because he had a rifle in his hand, but his action was purely automatic.
On the other hand, Colin was deliberate. He,too, levelled his rifle, but, at the same time, a mental view of the most vulnerable parts of an elephant flashed across his mind. Perhaps he was two seconds later than his chum in firing, but those two seconds had not been wasted.
With the back-sight of the rifle down to zero, Colin aimed straight at the elephant's right eye. It was not an easy shot, in spite of the fact that the animal was end-on, for, as the brute charged, its enormous head was continuously and rapidly jerking up and down, while the brandished trunk added to the baffling nature of the comparatively small target.
Sinclair, holding his breath, pressed the trigger. The rifle kicked more than usual—in fact, Colin noticed it, notwithstanding the greater issue.
Almost simultaneously with the sharp crack of the rifle the bull elephant dropped. Carried on by the impetus of its rush, the enormous bulk plunged forward for another eight or ten yards and then stopped, quivering and struggling, within a couple of feet of Colonel Narfield, who had contrived to roll away from the very place where the vanquished animal had come to a standstill.
Setting the safety-catch of his rifle, Colin dropped lightly to the ground. Then, preparing to administer thecoup de grâce, he advanced towards the hulking brute.
But there was no need for a second shot from his rifle. The giant bull-elephant was stone-dead.
Meanwhile Desmond had gained the ground. The two chums went to assist the Colonel, who was sitting up and regarding the dead elephant with the amazement arising from the fact that he, who had expected to be trampled to death, was alive, although not exactly kicking, while the enormous quadruped had for some inexplicable reason been stopped within an ace of success.
"Hurt, sir?" inquired Tiny.
"Ankle," replied Colonel Narfield laconically. Then he gazed first at the dead elephant and then at his rifle, lying thirty or forty yards away.
"Never let me down before," he continued, addressing his remarks to himself rather than to his companions. "Two miss-fires in succession. Wait till I write to the scoundrels who sold me that ammunition, by Jove! Where's Van der Wyck?"
"He's not back yet," replied Colin. "He went round the patch of scrub to see if the beaters had started one of the other elephants."
"Not back?" exclaimed the Colonel."Then who, in the name of fortune, killed the brute?"
"We both fired," replied Colin.
"And brought the brute down with an ordinary .303 bullet? Incredible!" declared Colonel Narfield, emphatically. "Bear a hand, lads. I haven't broken my ankle. It's only sprained, which is a jolly sight better than being squashed to a pulp. No, don't touch the boot and legging; if you do, I won't be able to get them on again in a hurry. Prop me up against that tree and fetch my rifle, please. I'm anxious to know what's wrong with that ammunition. If you see the first cartridge I ejected, bring that along, too."
Colin went to fetch the rifle. He took particular pains to keep a respectable distance from the dead elephant. In the slanting rays of the moon it looked more tremendous than ever.
"'Spose I did shoot the brute," thought Colin; "or I wonder if Tiny's bullet did the trick? There's no telling which, as far as I can see."
He recovered the rifle, apparently undamaged, although the muzzle was choked with mud. The ejected cartridge took a considerable amount of finding, but, after a lengthy search, Sinclair discovered it under the gnarled stem of a thorn bush.
Colonel Narfield took the rifle eagerly. The fact that it had "let him down" seemed to be of far greater importance than the death of the elephant.
"Quite all right," he decided. "Then it must be the ammunition."
Holding the two miss-fires in the moonlight, the Colonel critically examined the copper caps set in the brass bases of the cartridges.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "The caps aren't even dented. Come back all I said about the ammunition."
He deftly extracted the bolt of the rifle. The end of the striker was missing. An eighth of an inch or so had been snapped off, and that fraction made all the difference between a serviceable weapon and a useless incumbrance.
"Wonder how that happened?" he remarked. "It was all right before we left home, and the rifle never left my hands. Hullo! Here's Van der Wyck."
The old farmer was approaching, escorted by three or four wildly excited natives.
"You are in luck, too, I see, Colonel Narfield," exclaimed Van der Wyck.
"If you call this luck," rejoined the Colonel, indicating his ankle, "I am. You've bagged a brute, then?"
"Two," replied the old man with justifiablepride. "It took three shots to do it. One of the natives was trampled on before I settled the second cow. But that's a splendid brute of yours! Look at the tusks!"
"It wasn't my shot," protested Colonel Narfield. "These lads brought him down just as he was on the point of trampling on me."
Van der Wyck made no audible comment. He walked across to where the bull elephant lay surrounded by a mob of natives, for unaccountably the original number had been augmented by almost every man from Sibenga's Kraal.
Presently he returned.
"I can find only one wound," he announced, "although there might be one on the animal's left side; but I can't find that out, as he is lying on that side. There is a bullet hole under the right eye caused by an explosive bullet."
"An explosive bullet!" echoed Colonel Narfield.
"Not mine," declared Tiny.
"Nor mine," added Colin ruefully.
"Let me see your ammunition, lads," suggested the Colonel.
Desmond's was the ordinary soft-nosed bullet. Colin's was the same in appearance at first sight, but a brief examination revealedthe fact that it was of the explosive variety used in big-game hunting.
"Where did you get hold of this, Colin?" asked Colonel Narfield.
"From the ammunition-box just before we started," replied the lad.
"Then it's a jolly lucky thing you did so," declared Colonel Narfield. "A fluke of the highest dimension. No other form of ammunition would have dropped that brute dead in its tracks. All the same, I'd like to know how that packet got into the ordinary ammunition-chest," he added reflectively.