So all day long watchful eyes scanned the western plain, but only to be rewarded with the familiar sight of occasional dust-clouds; sometimes kicked up by the feet of moving game, such as zebra, hartebeeste, wildebeeste, or buffalo; and sometimes the sport of a whirlpool gust of wind which swiftly sweeps the ground, finally to rear a thin spiral dust-column tapering from the ground to a point high in the sky.
MASAI CATTLEMEN
Toward sundown three Masai were sighted, worming their way in and out of the long yellow grass toward the water-hole. They came from the west, and were travelling hurriedly, perhaps fearfully—for ever and anon the rear man of the trio would cast a hasty backward glance over his shoulder. Cunningly, in fear that foe might be at the water, they swung wide of the pass before approaching, and lay down while one of their number started to steal forward in the grass to investigate. But a shout from Saidi, and then an exchange of a reassuring word or two, brought them speedily to their feet, and into camp.
Like all of the Masai race, they were strange, red-skinned fellows, those wandering cattle men of the open uplands; wholly naked but for a loin cloth, and physical pictures of the aboriginal of the plain. For arms, they had each a long assegai, and a large mat-laced shield. They were covered with dust—otherwise, their bearing conveyed nothing untoward. It would be difficult to guess that beneath those features, cool and collected, expressionless, almost sullen, there lurked the emotions of men who had been near to death an hour or two ago.
After they had all drunk copiously of water, at a little distance from Clifford, they squatted on the ground with their knees drawn up under their chins, and told their hurried, broken story.
In their own language they arrived crudely and directly at essential facts.
GERMAN FREEBOOTERS
“Germans, master, many Germans,” said their spokesman, showing, for the first time, a spark of excitement. “This day, when sun there”—pointing to the mid-horizon south-east—“our cattle quiet—we cooking food; at that time he come—one German, two German, three German, on horse—after him come plenty Askaris [native soldiers] driving many cattle—cattle footsore, for long way he made go too fast. One German ride among us—he got small gun, and promise shoot to kill if we try to run away—Askaris come soon and bind our hands with cord; then one man stay to watch us. In little while Germans make fire and eat—plenty talk—plenty bottle [beer]—German pleased. By and by German sleep. By and by Askaris, who watch us, he sleep too—he plenty tired. Headman, he find stone beneath him and work cord binding hands against it. Sometime, cord cut—soon, then, we all free. We crawl in grass, far—afterwards we wait and watch. When the sun there” (pointing to sun’s position about three hours later) “German wake—find no boy. Plenty noise—Askari who watch us, he get plenty beating—afterwards they tie him prisoner—German afraid we run far and fast and go tell British. Soon German go—driving all cattle—our cattle too. But other cattle tired, master, he no go quick now; and German near his own country. He go Shombole and Lake Natron, one day’s trail, after that, soon he reach big German camp.”
Clifford was lost in thought—the Masai had ceased talking, and the youngest of them, a mere lad, had fallen asleep, hunched up awkwardly, on the bare, hard ground, weary beyond further caring. Saidi, who had listened attentively to all, moved off and busied himself over a fire and his master’s evening meal. The customary evening breeze had not arisen, it was close and oppressively hot, and a subdued spirit lay over the land. Clifford restlessly stirred the gravel beneath his feet, lost in his conjectures. He was wide awake and his keen, roving eyes betokened an intelligent mind stirred to unusual degree. The enterprise had taken on a serious aspect. Clifford had anticipated, if he were fortunate, he would run up against a small raiding party of one or two whites and a native soldier or two. His original difficulty, he thought, would be to track them, and overtake them. He found himself, instead, pitted against four whites and some dozen armed Askaris, whom he could head off, on their southward trail, in a single night’s march.
The odds were great—too great—but he was too far from his base to call for reinforcements; he must go on as he was, or return to camp mortified at having had the enemy within reach while admitting his inability to strike.