Chapter Nineteen.
Found!
They were about to start, when the Kaffir suddenly gave vent to an exclamation, at the same time inclining his head in a listening attitude.
“What is it?” asked Webster.
“Hush!” muttered Hume.
The Kaffir slipped away into the bush on the left, and Hume, with a word to Webster, ran off to the right.
A moment later Webster heard the gallop of a horse, and rushed forward with his rifle cocked, expecting he knew not what. Rapidly the hoof-beats struck sharper through the air, there was a crash of branches, a cry from the Kaffir, and a white horse cleared a bush and drew up. His rider lurched forward, and would have fallen had not Webster leapt forward in time. It was a slight boyish form he took in his arms, but as he was stooping with his burden to the ground he saw the face.
“Laura—Miss Anstrade!” he cried, trembling as he laid her head on his knee.
“Have you stopped the horse?” cried Hume, as he darted up.
Webster held up a hand warningly, and Hume went down on his knees, and the two of them, with white faces, gazed at the insensible figure.
Her short riding-habit was torn to shreds, her hands were scratched and bleeding, and across her white forehead there was an angry red weal. Her hat was gone, and the heavy plaits of her black hair had broken loose from their bindings.
Presently, as they leant over her, half-paralysed by conflicting emotions of joy, fear, and surprise, she opened her eyes, struggled to her feet, and sprang to the side of the horse.
“Laura!” they cried.
“Ah, heavens, it is you. I thought—” She looked round wildly, then fainted dead away.
“Look at her hands, how they have been torn,” and Hume gently pressed his lips to the fingers he held.
“Some water!” cried Webster.
“Yes, you run for the water;” and Hume passed his arm under the graceful head.
Webster looked fiercely across at his friend. “I can support her; you go for the water.”
“Klaas,” cried Hume, “water, quick!”
Klaas, who had been standing near, hurried up with a tin of water, which both young men attempted to take, the result being that the contents were spilled.
“It appears you wish to quarrel,” said Hume.
“No, sir; but it is my right to support her.”
“You are the first to break the contract which you yourself suggested,” said Hume bitterly; then quickly rising, he went to the waggon, to return with a drop of brandy. A little water was scattered on the white brow, and when presently the dark eyes opened again, the cup was held to her lips.
She rose up slowly, and looked long at them.
“Ah,” she said, “you must not leave me again.”
“Take my arm to the waggon,” said Hume tenderly.
“Let me carry you,” whispered Webster as gently.
She looked at her wounded hands and smiled, but when she saw the forlorn condition of her dress her feminine instincts rose in alarm. “Gracious heavens,” she murmured, “what a fright!” and vanished into the shelter of the waggon tent without support from either.
The two friends regarded each other with cold looks, then fell apart without a word.
“Baas,” said Klaas in Kaffir, “here come more horses.”
Hume picked up his double express and ran forward into the bush, while Webster, with gloomy and lowering brow, mounted guard at the waggon.
“Halt!” rang out Hume’s voice.
“Verdomde,” came a startled reply, “what say you?”
“Drop that gun, drop it.” There was the dull sound of the gun falling. “Now, come on slowly.”
Horse and rider advanced into the open space, and Piet Coetzee sat in the saddle, casting uneasy glances about him.
“Dismount,” said Hume sternly.
Slowly the young giant swung himself to the ground, and stood sullenly regarding his enemies under his straight brows.
“Take the horse, Klaas, find the baas’s gun, and keep watch beyond the bush.”
The Kaffir obeyed with a grin.
“Now, Piet Coetzee,” said Hume, with a hard look in his keen blue eyes, and a tightening of his lips, “if you have anything to say why you should not be tied to the waggon-wheel and flogged, say it.”
Coetzee flushed to his eyes, then folded his arms. “I am not a black man, that you should speak of flogging.”
“It is a question of crime, and not of colour.”
“Beware what you do or say,” said Piet threateningly; “if you flog a Boer you will be a dead man before the sun has risen again.”
“Come—have you anything to say?”
“What have I done?”
Hume picked up a rheim, made a running noose, and stepped up to the young Boer.
“I will kill you first!” hissed Piet, doubling his great fist.
“Be quiet,” said Webster; “or I will shoot.”
“Oh, yes; you are two to one, and I am unarmed. Cowards!”
“And you were two to one when you took away the young lady,” said Hume, and he slipped the noose over the broad shoulders and tightened it.
“My God! you will not flog me?”
“I will.”
“But it is a dog’s punishment. It will disgrace me for ever. Shoot me.”
Hume pulled the end of the rheim through the spokes, and pulled on it, then made a hitch. The young Boer placed his foot against the rim, exerted his strength, and snapped the strong hide.
“Now,” he shouted furiously, “I will make you shoot,” and with a bound he seized the pole of the scherm and whirled it round his head.
“What is this?” said a fresh voice, and Miss Anstrade, looking her old self, except for the angry red mark above her forehead, and the wounds on her white hands, stepped forward.
“This is one of the men who carried you away,” said Hume, “and I threatened to flog him unless he could explain.”
“It is not so,” said Piet furiously; “you threatened me first and asked me nothing.”
“Put your guns down,” said Miss Anstrade.
The two friends obeyed.
She walked quietly up to Piet, and took the pole from his hand.
“You are angry,” she said quietly.
“They threatened to flog me—me—a Boer in my own country. Verdomde, when my people hear of it they will whip every uitlander in the place.”
“Perhaps they will ask your forgiveness; and what has brought you here?”
“I followed you,” he said.
“Yes, true, you followed me, and why?”
“Because—because—” He dropped his eyes.
“Because I rode away?”
“Yes, on my horse.”
“It was your horse you wanted, then?”
“Yes—no—it was you, and my horse which had run away with you.”
She laughed. “I see, it was the horse that ran away with me; it was the horse that caused my hands to be torn, it was the horse that came in the night when my friends were away, and carried me off by force.” The smile was on her lips still, but there was such a look of scorn from her eyes that he trembled.
“I do not understand,” he said humbly.
“You know that I was taken from my friends at night, and you must understand, surely, that that was the act of robbers.”
“But he said you wished to escape.”
“Who?”
“That Portuguese Gobo. He told me you were of his country, and that these men were carrying you off into the desert, so that they could benefit from your death without being detected.”
“Is this the truth?”
“I am a Boer,” replied the young Dutchman with some dignity, “and I do not work harm to women. If the Portuguese has made a fool of me I will wring his neck.”
“He is a bad man. These are my friends who have helped me in great danger, and you caused them great suffering in taking me away. You have acted like a child; but it is because I see you have been misled I forgive you.”
She held out her hand, which he took in his, while a flush of manly shame spread over his face.
“Now, my brothers,” she said, with a brilliant smile, “all shake hands.”
Webster held out his hand frankly, but Hume refused.
“What,” she said, “you will not forgive him?”
“No, madam. If he has been the tool of a man more cunning than himself, he has been a willing tool. That mark across your forehead—how did it come there?”
“From the lash of a rebounding branch, as I galloped through the bush.”
“I am very sorry,” said Piet.
“Then go,” shouted Hume, “and thank this lady that you have not got what you deserved.”
“I will remember you,” growled Piet, as he moved off, “and maybe the sjambok you promised me will fall on your own shoulders.”
Hume, with his rifle in his hand, followed the young Boer, and saw him mount and ride away, leading the other horse. On reaching a ridge Piet turned and shook his fist, then suddenly dropping his reins he took a deliberate aim at Hume. A full half-minute he kept the deadly weapon at his shoulder, then, with a laugh, let it drop to the saddle, and disappeared. Hume, who had stood the ordeal with a bitter smile on his mouth, turned back to the camp and met Webster.
“Your friend has gone,” he said.
“Yes,” said Webster, whose face was deadly pale; “I saw his gun drop, and thought he had meant to shoot you.”
“I was wishing he would fire.”
“Frank!” exclaimed Webster.
They looked at each other straight in the eyes, clasped hands, and then walked back together.
Miss Anstrade went to meet them with a smile on her lips and a question in her eyes.
“My poor friends,” she murmured softly, “you have suffered a lot. I see it by your faces.”
“And you?” they said.
“I was confident you would find me if I could not escape.”
“We were just starting off,” said Webster, “after Frank had found the waggon and learnt from Klaas that you had been taken off in a cart.”
“Yes; they managed that very well. They told me there was a young woman lying ill at a farmhouse near, and asked me if I would not go, and they explained that, anticipating my consent, they had brought the waggon to a spot which would be convenient to you and to them. I saw no reason why I should not do a kindness, and after writing a note for you, which they promised to deliver, I was driven off to a cottage some eight or nine miles away. On alighting, I saw for the first time that one of the two men was a Portuguese, and from his mocking air of courtesy my suspicions were aroused. Of course there was no woman in the house, and on being shown into a room I locked the door. They left me there all the morning, but in the afternoon they begged me to come out. The Dutchman then went away, and through a small window I saw him mount a horse and ride away with a number of dogs. The Portuguese then began to threaten, and next to batter at the door. Then he promised me in his generosity much wealth if I would tell him where you were going, and whether it was to find a hidden treasure.”
“The little yellow brute!” growled Webster.
“How terrified you must have been!”
“On the contrary, I was quite cool, and when the door showed signs of giving way I opened it and asked him to enter. He did, with a sudden change to humility, and as he stepped in with his hat in his hand, I—well—I am afraid I knocked him down with a heavy stick.”
“Bravo!” said Webster, laughing, while Hume flashed a swift look at her and saw how rigid were the muscles about her mouth.
“I would have escaped then, but on reaching the door I saw there were some black men seated about a fire. Returning to the room, I bound the man up with some ropes that were in the room, and waited. At night the Dutchman returned and knocked at the door. I said it was all right, whereupon—whereupon he laughed. After a time he slept, but the black men sat round the fire till the grey of dawn. Then I stole out, saddled one of the horses, and was silently moving off when one of the dogs barked; the natives shouted, and I was seized with a mortal terror and fled, and my guardian saint led me to you. That is all.”
The two friends looked at her for some moments in silence, and they recalled the figure of a girl standing on the bridge in the driving spume, unmoved by the shrieking of shells overhead.
They then told her how they had passed the time, and when they had finished, the waggon was inspanned and the journey resumed. As the oxen had well rested, they made this time a long “skoff,” trekking till sundown, when the waggon was drawn up under a wild fig-tree, whose vast branches afforded plenty of shade. Klaas hunted about for some leaves, which he brought to Miss Anstrade to place on her hands. A fire was built, the violin was brought out, and the men sat dreamily as the music floated on the soft air.
The next morning Miss Anstrade stepped from the waggon, holding in her hand a small sporting Martini.
“I wish to learn how to shoot,” she said gravely.
“Good!” said Hume. “It will be as well.”
He showed her the action, and made her snap it from the shoulder. Then she inserted a cartridge.
“Press the butt tightly to the shoulder, bring the left elbow well down, and press with your thumb as you pull the trigger.”
She fired, and then practised at a mark.