She turned, but she was hardly listening to him. Why did they not come back? ran her thoughts. Had they, rendered reckless by success, pursued the fleeing enemy too far? The force which had attacked them was a strong one—strong and daring. What if it had recovered from its first wild panic? What if it had rallied, and shown a sudden change of front to its pursuers? What if the latter had straggled and been cut off in detail by the vengeful savages; all of which reduced to detail meant: What if one of them had?
“What do you think, Mr Wyndham?” she said suddenly. “Why are they so long away?”
Wyndham was no fool, and apart from what he had heard hinted at—albeit always in a kindly and good-natured way—would have had no difficulty in putting two and two together.
“Don’t you be anxious, Miss Vidal,” he said. “Those men are a hard-bitten lot, and not in the least likely to be led into any booby trap.”
“You think so?” she queried, speaking quickly.
“I’m sure of it. Ah— Look there. See? I was right. Here they come.”
Her face lighted up in a way that cost poor Wyndham something of a pang. It was even as he had said. Away over the nearly flat landscape figures were moving—horsemen. As they drew nearer it could be seen that they were split up in irregular groups, and were riding leisurely.
“Mr Wyndham, will you do me a very great favour?” she went on, speaking quickly. “Do get me those binoculars some of you were looking through yesterday.”
“Certainly I will. Grunberger has a good pair.”
He was back at her side in a minute. What horrible presentiment or instinct was it that caused Clare’s hands to tremble as she put the glasses to her eyes, so that she could scarcely see anything through them? With an effort she controlled her excitement. The horsemen were much nearer now, and she could make out they were quite unconcerned, and seemed to be chatting and laughing together. Clearly, then, nothing had gone wrong, and there had been no casualties.