Chapter Thirty Five.
“Is it too late?”
Waybridge, having delivered his contract stock, had intended staying the night at Fort Isiwa, but some news which was brought in at that post decided him to start for home at no longer notice than it took him to saddle up, and to get there as fast as his steed could carry him.
It was rather late when he clattered into Komgha, but, late as it was, quite a number of men were astir. There was no help for it. He must perforce off-saddle if only for a quarter of an hour, after the pace at which he had pushed his horse, and that all uphill.
“Anything in this news?” he asked eagerly as he gained the stoep at Pagets and called for a very long brandy and soda.
“Or is it all a yarn?”
“Yarn? Not much. The Gaikas have broken out, and are burning all the farms within reach. Yours among ’em, I expect, Waybridge.”
“Mine among ’em! But, good Lord! man, my people are still there.”
The other whistled blankly.
“Didn’t they come in?” he said.