They know this, and they do spur up. If the horses had got anything left in them they have to travel now. Again, instinctively, Lamont holds back to cover the rear, though he could easily have been among the foremost.
For some minutes this terrible race continues—its prizes dear life; and now as the ground becomes more level, the horsemen are gaining. Through the fierce hissing and the thunder of the shouts of the pursuers nothing else can be heard, and it is literally every man for himself.
In the wild din, we repeat, nothing can be heard, consequently the residue of the refugees are totally unaware that one among their number is down, lying pinned to the ground by his horse but otherwise uninjured, awaiting the spears of hundreds of savages aroused to the last degree of vengeful exasperation. But such is sadly the case—and that man is Piers Lamont.
This is “where he is.”
Chapter Twenty Eight.
No Hope!
The township of Gandela was practically in a state of siege. Taught tardy wisdom—providentially not too tardy—by recent happenings, its authorities had caused a strong laager to be formed, and within this its inhabitants gathered at night. To those of them who owned stands in outlying parts of the township this was a considerable disadvantage, for in the event of attack their property would inevitably be looted and their houses burnt. Moreover, the accommodation within the laager was of necessity cramped and comfortless, and involved a considerable amount of promiscuous ‘herding,’ But in those lurid days, when tale succeeded tale of treacherous massacre and mutilation throughout the length and breadth of the land,—unhappily, for the most part true,—when refugees, singly or in groups, would come panting in with hair-breadth escapes to narrate, unspeakably glad to have escaped with their bare lives,—when, at any moment, the Matabele impis might swoop down upon them in such force as to tax their uttermost resources—why, then, people were not particular as to a little discomfort more or less.
And of this, in the Gandela laager at any rate, there was plenty. Transport had been scanty and dear enough, in all conscience, before, when it was not uncommon for a whole span of oxen to succumb on the road to the fell rinderpest. Now, since the outbreak, when anything like regular communication had been cut off—the roads only being kept open by strong and well-armed patrols and then at the cost of fierce fighting—the situation at outlying posts such as Gandela became more than serious. The food supplies threatened to run short. There was not much fear of any attack in the daytime, or at all events without ample warning, for the surrounding country was carefully scouted on every side; and such being the case those who dwelt on the outlying stands occupied their houses until sundown, when they collected within the laager. Among such were the Fullertons.