Lamont admitted the sense of this, but it was hard to be patient. Meanwhile the battle, or skirmish,—in which they had ceased to take any further interest,—had rolled farther and farther away, and was slackening off altogether.
When the force went into camp for the night, great was the dissatisfaction expressed over Peters’ proposed defection. The latter was adamant.
“I’ve come out with one object now,” he said, “and I’ve attained it. We must get back to Gandela at once, where Lamont has some very pressing business. Then we’re going to start a corps of our own. In fact, that’s all cut and dried. Eh, Wyndham?”
Wyndham agreed, and it was arranged they should start at dawn. Father Mathias elected to remain with the expedition. His knowledge of surgery might be useful, he urged, and indeed subsequent events proved it to be very useful indeed, and the intrepidity of the doctor-priest, and his unflagging care for the wounded and the dying, even under the hottest of fire, won for him the admiration of all, not only on that expedition but throughout the entire campaign.
Peters’ party duly reached Gandela—not without incident, for on one occasion it had to fight its way through. And then there were great rejoicings, and a reunion which was too sacred for us to meddle with. Then, too, came about the formation of that hard-bitten corps, ‘Lamont Tigers,’ and tigers indeed the savage enemy was destined to find them, until eventually he sullenly laid down his arms at the Matopo Peace. And with their departure, pain and black anxiety deepened down once more—but—such was the common lot.
Epilogue.
“Heard the latest, Violet?” said Squire Courtland, as they got up from lunch.
“There are so many latests,” was the reply, somewhat acidly made.