Chapter Twenty Nine.
A Fearful Position.
“He is not dead,” said Hume, as he earnestly studied the white face.
“Oh, thank Heaven! Quick! bring him in here out of the sun;” and, sitting down in the shadow of the opening, she took the wounded head upon her lap, and, with a firm, yet soft touch, parted the matted hairs. “Now get water and brandy.”
Hume went swiftly back to the place they had just left, and on his return with water he found she had cut away the hair with her scissors, which she always carried.
“It is only a surface wound. I think we have some maize meal left; give me some.”
Hume unbound a small bundle, and produced a packet of meal, of which she grasped a handful and laid it on the wound, pressing it with her hand till the oozing blood caked it into an impervious plaster.
“That will stop the bleeding. Now a drop of brandy,” and, taking a pannikin handed to her, she poured a few drops into his mouth, bathing his forehead with the rest. “Make a couch there with the blankets.” This was done, and the insensible form laid softly down.
Then she sat by his side, bathing his forehead at intervals, and watching with an absorbed look, while Hume stood near pale and silent, and the two natives crouched in the cave.
“Don’t stand there,” she said, without removing her gaze; “it irritates me. Find out how it happened.”
Hume stepped out on to a broad ledge and stood in a maze, looking without seeing anything, until the rush of an eagle before his face made him recoil and restored his faculties. Then he keenly noted the surroundings. The ledge terminated at the cave, and from its lip a frightful precipice sank down and down into the rock-strewn depths. On his right the ledge swept up the face of the krantz to where the Face stood out from the rock, about two hundred feet above. He noted that the outline was not so clear, the smoothness observable from a distance being broken up by cracks and inequalities, while the neck was detached, and in the eye was a jagged opening without design. Slowly he mounted towards the profile, scanning the ledge for a sign of human presence, but finding nothing but a certain polish on the rock, which might have been caused by the passage of human feet. Without difficulty, and without emotion, he stepped into the socket of the eye; but no sooner was he there, with one hand holding to the rock to support him, than he thrilled to the thought that at last the mysterious Golden Rock was in the range of his vision. He drew a deep breath, and, forgetting everything, stood looking at the scene spread in noble beauty at his feet. There it lay, calm, beautiful and peaceful, the valley of the shining rock; the place where no white man had entered; whose secret had been jealously protected for centuries, to find its way at last through those gloomy ravines to the solitary hunter, and from him to the three who had been so strangely thrown together, and who were risking all to win it. Far and wide stretched the valley, flanked on the east and south by the frowning battlement of rocky mountains; on the north and west by deep forests, whose dark and sombre mantle stretched without a break, a valley of gentle grassy undulations, with clusters of trees scattered about, and with a broad and shining river running through its centre. On the further side large herds of cattle grazed, the slopes leading to the river showed green in patches, where the mealies grew, while dozens of native kraals were visible, and diminutive figures moved about in the fields, about the huts, or along the winding paths. On the nearer side there were no cattle, neither people nor villages, nor the criss-cross of trodden paths, but only an irregular structure overgrown with bush, which marked, no doubt, the site of the ruins referred to in the map. Long he stood drinking in the scene, and making many guesses as to the place where the rock should be, until he remembered that there was no one with him to share this pleasure. Then he examined the rock about him, and saw that a ledge ran from his feet along the front of the mountain facing the valley, to disappear round a projecting shoulder about one hundred yards away. Returning to the cave, he found Laura still sitting by the still figure. She looked up with a smile as he entered.
“He is breathing regularly now, and the bleeding has stopped.”
“You have saved his life, then,” he said warmly; and added softly, “his life is yours.”
A deep flush suffused her face, and her lips trembled.
“Did you find anything?” she asked absently.
“No,” he answered, with a sigh; “but I have seen the casket that holds our treasure. I have looked on the valley from the eye. We are very near it at last. Will you come and see?”
“I will wait till he can join us. It is at sunrise only—is it not?—we can see the Golden Rock. And to-morrow, then, let us stand together and watch for the ray that is to guide us.”
Hume looked at Webster, and he remembered the silent mysterious foe who had dogged their footsteps. “If to-morrow’s sun shines for us,” he murmured.
At last, in the afternoon, Webster suddenly sat up, and with a wild glare in his eyes, stared around him.
“We are here, Jim,” she whispered softly.
The bloodshot eyes sought her pale face. “And Frank?” he asked. She drew aside, showing Hume standing there.
“Look out!” he cried hoarsely, “there is danger here. I was struck down just now by some unseen hand. Give me my rifle.”
“There is no fear at present,” she said gently. “Several hours have gone since we found you here.”
“And Laura has nursed you all that time;” and Hume placed her hand in that of the wounded man.
Then he stepped out again to keep guard, while Klaas, who had been very subdued, took infinite pains to make the kettle boil out of such scanty fuel as he could find. When night closed down Webster was able to sit up, but was still too dizzy to stand, and could not, much to his concern, take his turn at guard. Klaas was stationed at the back of the cave, Sirayo at its mouth, while Hume went forward to seat himself in the eye itself.
There was a profound silence up in that lofty eyrie, and the long-continued strain they had been subjected to made them more liable to the sad influence of the surroundings. In the dim light Laura could see the blanketed figure of the Zulu chief, seated like a stone image on the ledge overhanging the deep ravine, and as she watched the blurred outline minute after minute without seeing any movement, she began at first to speculate on his reflections; but this train of thought rapidly melted into a vague uneasiness, giving way again to a feeling of superstition. Her breath came quicker, and to still her fears she moved softly out on to the ledge and laid a timid hand on the bowed shoulder of the immovable savage.
He turned his head quickly at the touch, his eyes gleaming.
“I was afraid,” she whispered, shuddering, and sat down near him, while he, after a steady look around, gravely took snuff.
“Much dark,” he growled in broken English. “Inkosikasi not like. Sit here; sleep—no!” and leaning over, he gently touched the lip of the precipice with his assegai.
“It is very deep,” she whispered. “What did you see down there in the dark that you looked so steadily.”
He shook his head. “Still,” he said; “listen.”
Drawing his blanket more closely round him, he became motionless as before, his sombre eyes fixed on the gloomy depths and his ears alert, while she, feeling a little comforted by the presence of this watchful figure, turned her white face to the brilliant stars.
In the cave Webster was recovering his strength in a profound sleep, while behind him the lean Gaika, stretched at length in the narrow tunnel, kept doggedly on guard, his position being the safest but the most trying, from the cramped surroundings and intense gloom.
The post of danger, however, was on the eye, where Hume sat barring the only possible way of approach to the unknown enemy who had struck down Webster. Fully two thousand feet below him was the wide valley, hidden now by the blackness of night, and showing its depth only by one tiny point of red where a fire blazed in some kraal. To him there rose soft sounds, the lowing of cattle, the cry of wild animals, a song of natives, intermingled, and subdued by distance. There was a sense of companionship in the sounds, showing as they did the presence of living creatures near that lonely height; but they did not appeal to his stern nature. He sat with a grim purpose, his rifle cocked, his ears bent to detect some other noise, and his mind fixed only on the one purpose of defending his position. In this mysterious being, who had dogged their footsteps, whose every visit had put them to a severe trial, he knew he had to deal with someone not only possessed of extraordinary cunning, but who had a secret knowledge of his name and his mission. He would not sound the dangerous depth of speculation about the identity of the unknown, but sat on, determined and watchful.
So they continued at their several posts well into the night until the wind rose, poured into the ravine, and as on the previous night, went moaning into the ear of the cave, and through the narrow tunnel.
Hume stirred in his seat, and placed his finger on the trigger. The moment, he thought, had come. Then the faint crack of a rifle broke on his ear, followed by a confused murmur of voices, and almost at his feet, though far down, a circle of fires pierced the darkness with their red points. The fires were evidently on the deserted right side of the valley, and, as he judged, in the neighbourhood of the ruins.
Bringing the rifle to his shoulder, and with his elbow resting on his knee, he idly sighted at one of these gleaming points. While his finger played with a come-and-go touch in the curve of the trigger, his nerves suddenly tightened at a slight sound. It was a sound made by a man expanding his nostrils, the noise he had heard at the reeds—and slowly bringing the muzzle round, he fired into the night. There was the vivid flash, the crashing report suddenly breaking the silence, and a startled cry from his rear, where Laura still sat dreaming near the still figure of the chief.
Then a deeper silence than before, save that the wind wailed down the ravine; and Hume, softly rising to his feet, slipped in another cartridge.
In a moment Sirayo was by his side, having come without a sound, and the two stood intently listening, without a whisper even of what had occurred.
“Are you safe? Oh! what is it?” It was Laura’s frightened voice hailing.
Sirayo clicked with his tongue at the interruption, and Hume half turned his head.
“Frank,” she cried again, nearer at hand. “Frank; oh, how dark!”
Hume thought of the narrow ledge, of the fearful precipice, of the danger of one false step in the dark, and cried out:
“Stand where you are. I am coming.”
Immediately the darkness below was pierced by lurid flashes, and bullets smacked against the rock or whistled fiercely overhead.
Hume fired both barrels, and then swung behind the projecting rock which formed the ear of the face.
“Oh, merciful Lady!” came in a gasp from behind.
“Take her to the cave, chief,” said Hume quickly, “and return with the other gun.”
Sirayo slipped away, and Hume, taking a heavy Colt’s revolver from his belt in his left hand, swung himself round and fired along the ledge on the further face of the mountain. The first shot was swiftly answered, and as quick as lightning, he emptied the remaining barrels, guided by the flashes.
Sirayo returned, and Hume explained to him that the enemy must be advancing along a ledge which sloped away to their right for about one hundred paces, to disappear around a projecting rock.
“We should hold this place against a hundred. The only danger is lest two or three should crawl up while their companions fire to attract our attention.”
“It is easy to shoot wide in the dark,” muttered Sirayo, “but when a man gets close enough to thrust an assegai it is different.” He felt about with his naked feet to find the nature of the foothold.
Hume fired again, drawing as before an instant reply, the bullets singing viciously overhead.
“They fire high,” said Hume.
“How wide is the ledge?”
“It will take two men, crawling side by side.”
“Soh! Here is a plan. Let one of us get out flat on the ledge. The other will stand here and fire. Then the other will hear if any advance on their bellies, and shoot.”
“It is good; I will take the ledge.”
“Nay, the plan is mine; I will take the ledge, and if the bullet misses, the assegai will not.”
“No, chief; your assegai is good against one or two, but this little gun holds six lives.”
“Go, then,” said Sirayo, with a grim chuckle; “but when your little gun has spoken let me try my assegai.”
Hume took off his boots, laid his rifle and cartridge-belt aside, and then, feeling his way with his hands, he crept out, inch by inch, several yards, until he was well out on the ledge.
Then he sat close against the wall of rock, with his revolver ready—waiting. It was a dangerous position, and his life depended on the keenness of his hearing and steadiness of nerve. Before him were cunning foes stealthily advancing, and within a yard was the lip of the sheer precipice.
No sooner had he sat down than Sirayo, standing well out in the eye, fired, and the bullet, striking the side of the mountain, went humming into the darkness. A solitary shot replied; then another nearer, and a third still nearer; and immediately after the third report a shout rolled out, deep and fierce, thundering taunts.
“Look out!” hissed Sirayo, and fired again.
The shouting increased, and Hume’s grasp tightened on his revolver, while his breathing came quicker. What was that? The sound of metal touching the rock—just touching it—but the faint tinkle was enough. There were men crawling up, then! That soft noise—it must be made by naked men creeping. His arm stiffened—his eyes were riveted—he now scarcely breathed. Was that a darker shadow before him?—almost within reach—his finger closed on the trigger. There was a groan—the rattle of a spear falling—the flash of a gun almost in his face, so that the burning powder scorched his eyes, and he emptied his remaining barrels before covering his eyes with his hand. As he did so he heard at his side the double report as Sirayo, advancing, fired; heard the terrible Zulu war-cry, the clash of blades, the fierce grunting of men in a death struggle. But he sat helpless, blinded, in an agony of pain and apprehension. The sound of the fighting retreated, grew more fitful, died away, and with trembling fingers he refilled the empty chambers of his pistol, and waited, with his hand over his throbbing eyeballs. But the enemy did not come; instead he heard the voice of Sirayo calling:
“Eh, Hu-em—Inkose!”—calling surely in some strangely unfamiliar tone of fear.
“Hu-em, my friend, do not desert me.”
“What is it, chief?”
“Come; I cling to the rock.”
“Good God!” cried Hume; “wait,” and painfully he groped his blind way along, grinding his teeth.
“Quick, my friend!” cried the chief hoarsely.
“Yes, yes; oh, God, for one moment’s strength!”
“Frank, oh, Frank, where are you?”
He turned his head at the sound. “Laura!” he cried.
“Oh, thank Heaven!”
“Listen,” he cried, steadying his voice by a supreme effort. “You will find a ledge on your right. Keep your right hand, to the rock and come on quickly, quickly, for God’s sake!”
There was a sobbing reply, but he heard her come.
“Where are you?”
“Here; but go on quickly to the chief. He is in danger.”
“But you—you are hurt?”
“Go on,” he cried fiercely; and he felt the touch of her dress and heard her voice go out in a quivering cry for Sirayo.
“Inkosikasi,” came the faint reply.
She gave a shriek of terror as, guided by the heavy breathing of the chief, she felt his wrist, and slipping her hand over the straining muscles of the arm, found that he was hanging from the ledge.
“Your other hand,” she said.
“Broken!” he growled. “Woman weak—where Hu-em?”
She stretched herself on the ledge, and, reaching over, grasped the shoulder-strap from which his bag was suspended.
“No good,” he panted; then, in Zulu, he muttered: “It is a far drop, and every bone will be broken. To die like this. Inkosikasi!”
“Well!” she gasped.
“A gun is near. Find it and shoot! So Sirayo dies! Go—find.”
“Hold on—help comes. If you fall you drag me. Frank!”
There was a movement by her side, fingers felt along her outstretched hands, then closed upon the warrior’s wrist in a grasp of iron, and Hume, shutting his teeth, put forth all his strength.
There was a scramble, a sob, the sound of deep panting breaths, and Sirayo was saved. Hume, with a cold sweat on his brow, fell back, almost swooning from the fierce throbbing of his eyes. Laura gave way to a fit of crying, and Sirayo, crawling along the ledge, lay at full length, breathing deeply.
If the enemy had come now, not one of them could have lifted a finger in defence.