“Yes. Well, it wasn’t to be expected they could stand against five thousand of Kreli’s chaps; and they didn’t. The order was given to retire, and then it became a job to catch the horses, and, as the Kafirs charged them, they were obliged to run for it. Some who couldn’t catch their horses were killed—six—six privates and a sub-inspector; and now old Kreli’s cock of the walk—for the time being.”
“Where was the row?” asked Claverton.
“Well, it was at a place called Guadana—just on the boundary of the Idutywa Reserve.”
“When was it—yesterday?” inquired Payne.
“No—day before. I’m expecting a chap round here directly who’s straight from up there. Come in and liquor, and we’ll get him to tell us all about it.”
“The day before yesterday!” echoed Payne, opening his eyes wide—and he and Claverton looked meaningly at each other—for it was on the evening of that very day that the old Kafir had come to them with his stealthy warning, and the dread Fire Trumpet had blazed forth on the Kei hills, signalling to the expectant tribes within the colonial boundary, the news of their brethren’s victory. And it was on the following day that they two had so nearly carried the war into the enemy’s country in pursuit of the stolen cattle, all unconscious, then, of the mad rashness of the undertaking—an undertaking, which, had it been carried out, would assuredly have cost them their lives.