“Very well. But I’m much mistaken if the young scamps won’t take the matter into their own hands directly they hear a shot fired. Now, how many guns have we? There’s mine—two of Chris’s—that makes six barrels; the boys’ muzzle-loaders, ten barrels. Then Chris has a five-shooter—”
“He took that with him.”
“Did he? Well, I have a six. Altogether we shan’t do badly. And now you had better break the news to Marian and Miss Avory, while I slip down to the hut to rout out Gomfana. And lose no time barricading the windows. Mattresses are the thing for that—almost bullet-proof.”
Arming himself with a gun and revolver, Renshaw slipped out quietly, and made his way to the huts. Gomfana, like most natives, slept heavily, and took a deal of waking; and by the time the situation was brought home to his obtuse brain some minutes had been lost. He was a sturdy youngster of about twenty—a “raw” Kafir—that is to say, one who had never been out of his native kraal, and was stupid and ignorant of European ways. But at the prospect of a fight he grinned and brightened up.
Just as they regained the house a glow suffused the sky against the mountain-top, and a few minutes later a broad half-moon was sailing high in the heavens. Renshaw hailed its appearance with unbounded satisfaction.
The two girls had already lit their candles for bed when Mrs Selwood brought the unwelcome news, judiciously omitting the ghastly tragedy, which could only horrify without encouraging the hearers. Their method of receiving it was as divergent as their characters. Marian, though she slightly changed colour, remained perfectly cool and collected. Violet, on the other hand, turned white as a sheet, and fairly shook with terror. It was all they could do to keep her from going into wild hysterics.
“This sort of thing won’t do at all, Miss Avory,” said Renshaw, entering at that moment; his sable recruit hanging back in the doorway. “Why, all you’ve got to do is to lie down and go to sleep in perfect safety. If we exchange a shot or two that’s all it will amount to. Come, now, I should have thought you would have enjoyed the excitement of a real adventure.”
Violet tried to smile, but it was the mere ghost of a smile. She still shivered and shook. And Renshaw himself seemed changed. None of the diffident lover about him now. He seemed in his element at the prospect of peril. In the midst of her fears Violet remembered Marian’s eulogies on his coolness and resource in an emergency. The recollection quieted her, and she looked upon him with unbounded respect. Then she noted Marian’s calm and resolute demeanour, and even fancied that the look of the latter was expressive of something like contempt—wherein she was mistaken, but the idea acted as a tonic to brace her nerves.
Having seen to the firearms and ammunition, and cautioned the women to remain where they were and allow no more light to be seen than they could help, Renshaw went the round of the house. Effie and the two little ones were sleeping soundly, so also were the two boys. Opening the door, he looked cautiously out. All was still.
He had decided that the four corner rooms should be the points of defence, and the windows accordingly were not barricaded. The others were rendered secure by fixing against each a couple of mattresses. Then he went back to the ladies.