Immediately a daring scheme of attack flashed through Clifford’s mind—the enemy were playing into his hands in separating their forces. Hastily he lifted his rifle, spoke a few excited words to Saidi, and started to steal through the grass down to the plain on the west. Once on the plain they scrambled and crawled, under cover of a dry, shallow rivulet, seeking to reach the probable line over which the advancing horsemen would pass. Over a mile they laboured, slowly, awkwardly, until, scratched, torn, and breathless with their mad haste, they lay still; near to the place on which the enemy were bearing.
As Fate would have it, the horsemen bore straight down on them, utterly unaware of danger. Clifford whispered to Saidi that he was to shoot the nearest horse at the same time as he (Clifford) fired. With their rifles in the grass, and with heads low, they watched and waited. Grim was the expression on their faces now, all outward excitement had gone: nerves were set, and “steeled” against the coming effort. Suddenly—when the horses were barely fifteen yards away, Clifford whispered tersely, “Now!” Simultaneously, both rifles spoke, and all was violent struggle and confusion on the ground in front. Clifford stood upright and fired quickly again. Then, harshly, he called out a command in German, while like a flash his rifle swung to his right and remained aimed at its object. Unmoved, he ordered Saidi from his hiding-place. Both horses were down, and the nearest German; the other German had his hands up, covered by Clifford. Saidi removed the German’s rifle, which lay on the ground where it had been thrown when the horse, with its rider, fell. The prisoner was then speedily bound and gagged, so that he could not warn the others, and concealed in the rivulet ditch. The other German was dead, and both horses. The horses could not be moved, so, to disguise them from sight at a distance, the carcases were hastily covered with prairie grass.
Meantime the main body of the enemy was approaching, but, luckily, at a slow pace. The scene enacted had been lost to the other raiders, for a low rise lay between them and the ground, gently falling to the lake, where Clifford had ambushed the leaders. The rifle shots they must have heard, but, as they were not expecting enemy, they would probably think that their comrades were after game, for meat for their natives, as was common practice.
CLIFFORD STRIKES
After making certain that the prisoner was securely bound and concealed, and unable to move away, Clifford now moved hastily forward; his intention being to reach the protection of a small knoll about six hundred yards nearer to the approaching enemy and away from the condemning signs of catastrophe. But before he got there, dust, over the rise, warned him and his boy to take cover. So they lay on the open veldt, in the hay grass, not daring to move to better cover, for, at any instant now, horsemen, or keen-sighted Askari, might appear in view. Lying there, Clifford gave his orders to Saidi, who grinned still over the success of their first attack. “Fire like H⸺, Saidi! at Askaris—make plenty noise—make him think plenty British here. Make him run!”
Clifford was confident of the outcome now, and eager for the fray. By an extraordinary piece of luck the white opposition had been evened up: and now he had the advantage of surprise, and the consequent target for his deadly rifle.
Slowly the raiders appeared in view over the rising ground, and drew on. Together the Germans scanned the plain ahead, but beyond a word or two they, apparently, did not trouble about the non-appearance of their comrades—they thought, no doubt, that theirs was only a momentary disappearance behind some low ridge in the distance.
The raiders sat their horses idly, and watched the tired cattle being herded on; they swore at their Askaris and urged them, time without number, to lash on the many laggards. Apparently they were weary of their work, and tired of the trek.
Clifford and Saidi were waiting breathlessly. The herd was a bit to the right, but was going to pass them at about fifty yards. Steadily they drew on. Again the rifles were ready in the grass; again Clifford’s terse, “now!” was whispered, and startling shots rang out. And then the scene was like a battle. Shots poured from their hidden haven in the grass, as fast as they could load and fire, simply to disguise their strength and frighten the blacks.
ROUTING THE RAIDERS