“That’s it, sir.”
“Escort!” echoed Fullerton. “Why, what the devil do we want with an escort? We haven’t got the Administrator on board.”
“Well, sir,” said the sergeant, “the niggers have been a bit sulky of late, over the wholesale shootin’ of their cattle, and it’s a wide stretch of country, and the captain said that as we were going to Buluwayo in any case, it’d do no harm if we kept with your waggon.”
As a matter of fact the men were not ‘going to Buluwayo in any case,’ but had been specially told off by their commanding officer to escort this outfit thither. It—for all purposes in his eyes—spelt Clare Vidal. In spite of his former rejection he had not got over his weakness for that extremely attractive young person, and here was a right royal chance to ingratiate himself with her; for of course he would contrive to let her know later that it was solely upon her account that the escort had been furnished. Isard had accepted Lamont’s warning with a considerable pinch of salt, still there was no doubt but that there was unrest among the natives, and where Clare was concerned it was as well to be on the safe side. The safe side! Well, Isard was steeped to the crown of his handsome and soldierly head in the British and military tradition of despising your enemy, wherefore, of course, the presence of a dozen of his Mounted Police was sufficient to overawe every squalid nigger in Matabeleland, or the whole lot of them put together.
“There’s something in that, sergeant,” said Wyndham, “and it’s very good of the captain to have thought of it.” Then, as the sergeant having saluted again and dropped behind, he went on—
“By George, that’s very considerate of Isard. He’s not at all the sort of fellow I should have expected a thing of that sort from. Well, Miss Vidal, you’ve got the experience of travelling under an armed escort. Quite romantic, isn’t it?”
“Quite. But, as you say, it’s very kind of Captain Isard all the same,” answered Clare, the only one who was behind the scenes as to the situation. Lamont’s warning to herself had been urgent and definite, yet her brother-in-law’s provoking obstinacy had caused him to put off and put off. The limit of the time named must nearly have been reached, and, remembering this, secretly she hailed the presence of those armed police with a feeling of devout thankfulness.
“But—is there really any danger?” said her sister anxiously. “Because if there is, I, for one, vote we turn back.”
“Danger! Pho!” rapped out Fullerton contemptuously. “I suppose Lamont has been putting about one of his chronic scares, or something of that sort. Turn back? No fear. We’re in for a jolly trip.”
Whereby it is manifest that in a small place like Gandela, things will leak out. Assuredly nothing could look more peaceful than the aspect of things as they pulled up at the mixture of store and wayside inn where they were to outspan after the first stage. The wild veldt, aglow in the shimmering heat, the drowsy hum of native voices, the sleepiness and calm of the place—no suggestion of a cataclysm lay here.