The storekeeper swore a bit. He wasn’t going to be hustled off for any blooming Sapazani, not he. They had taught them a lesson that morning that wouldn’t want repeating, and so on. Inspector Bray grew “short.”
“Well, if you’re a blanked idiot, Minton,” he said, “stay, by all means; but I don’t suppose there are any more such fools. Eh, Halse?”
“I’m not one of them, Bray,” was the answer. “A man can risk his own skin as much as he’s fool enough to do, but he’s no business to risk that of his womenkind. My party goes with you.”
That settled it. The consensus of opinion was against the storekeeper, wherefore, as he could not stay on by himself, the whole position was simplified. He occupied the remainder of the time burying the most valuable of his stock-in-trade, the liquor to wit, and such other things as were worth bothering about in an emergency. Meanwhile the two police officers and Ben Halse went round the line of attack, like a sort of informal coroner’s court “viewing the bodies.” Several of these the latter recognised as Sapazani’s people. The others he did not think were.
Then, when the Force had sufficiently rested, there was saddling up and inspanning, and soon after midday the column pulled out.
Chapter Twenty Seven.
Of the Bush Road.
An advance guard of twenty men was thrown forward; Ben Halse’s trap and that containing the other storekeeper’s family being in the middle of the main body, which was ready to close up around both at a moment’s warning. Scouts were thrown out, but there were places in which the thick bush rendered the services of such entirely useless.