Volume Two—Chapter Seven.
A Timely Flight.
Marshall’s prediction was verified. Claverton and his host returned to Fountain’s Gap at desk; but without the lost stock. They had spoored the animals down to a drift of the Kei River, and had even crossed; but in the then state of things they deemed it imprudent to a degree to venture farther into the enemy’s country; and the thieves, having a good start of them, escaped with their booty.
Careful watch was kept that night in Payne’s household; but beyond a couple of alarms—not unjustifiable after the events of the last twenty-four hours, though happily false—nothing transpired.
Under the influence of the cheering sunshine all were disposed to think more lightly of the situation; but Payne had formed his plans. It would not do to remain there any longer. He, in common with other settlers on that part of the Kaffrarian border, was very precariously situated. What with Kreli, just across the river, in a state of declared war; and the powerful Gaika clans, within colonial territory, liable to rise at any moment and make common cause with their brethren, George fully realised that he was in a cleft stick, hemmed in as he would thus be by hostile natives on every side. So he made up his mind to abandon Fountain’s Gap, and remove his family to Komgha; then he would have his hands free to take the field if it were still necessary. The move was to be made that morning, and all the household were hastily preparing for it.
It was arranged that they should remain in the settlement for the present, till it could be seen how things would turn out. There they would be safe, as the place would be a kind of dépôt and the headquarters whence all operations for guarding the border would be carried on.
“And now, George, I suppose the Kafirs will have made a bonfire of the house before I see it again,” remarked his wife, as a turn of the road hid the homestead from view.
“Dunno. Impossible to predict. They may, and they may not,” sententiously replied George, whose chief object in life, at that moment, was the lighting of his pipe under the adverse circumstances of being at the same time obliged to control a pair of strong, fresh horses, none of the quietest at the best of times. He was driving a Cape cart, the ordinary family coach of the frontier settler, which, besides the said family, contained very little else, for he intended to return at once as soon as the womenkind were in safety, and load up a waggon with such of his lares and penates as it was most desirable to preserve; for the rest, well, he supposed it must take its chance. Lilian was riding—needless to specify with what escort—and Marshall, who was leading a young horse, and whose attention was wholly taken up with that intractable animal—or at any rate, said it was—rode a little way behind.
“I wonder when I shall get you all to myself again, Arthur,” she said, softly.