“Never mind, Jack. I won’t dun you for the stakes, I only wanted to see if you had left off that villainous sporting habit of yours.”
“But, Arthur—how the deuce did you come here?” went on Hicks. “You’re not a Volunteer—those fellows are all jingling with chains and whistles.”
“Yes, I am. Kaffrarian Rangers, full private. And then?”
“And then? Why, you must join us without any further indaba. We’ll have a high old time of it. Do you mean to say you can cut all your old friends and go and fight among strangers? Bosh!”
Claverton whistled meditatively as he surveyed the field of battle and of flight. Here and there lay a dark object in a heap amid the grass, just as it had fallen—the slain body of a Gcaleka warrior—and scattered afar rode the pursuing horsemen.
“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “I should rather like to cut in with you fellows. I’ll see if it can be managed.”
“Of course you will,” said Hicks, light-heartedly. “By Jove, if that isn’t ‘the retire.’”
For the clear notes of the bugle were ringing afar, and in obedience to the summons the straggling horsemen began to collect from all parts of the field, and to retrace their steps, marvelling not a little at this sudden and unlooked-for mandate. And from the chief’s village, the “Great Place,” went up a great cloud of smoke, as, having hunted out its fleeing inhabitants, the last of the attacking force had flung a torch into the thatch tenements, setting the whole in a blaze; and above the bursting flames great rolling pillars of smoke mounted to the sky.
Slowly the pursuers straggled back, their horses and themselves wet with perspiration and grimy with dust and powder; many hatless, having lost their “roofing,” they said, in the hurry-scurry of the charge or of the pursuit; while a darker stain showed upon others, whether on their clothes or accoutrements—the stain of blood. The horses were panting after their long gallop, and the riders commenting freely on the events of the morning in a loud, excited tone. Many carried assegais, whole or broken, which they had taken as trophies, also bead-work, and other articles of native apparel or adornment. And in the rear marched the Fingo contingent, howling their war-song and looking intensely valiant now that the danger was over.
“Manzi! Ndipé manzi!” (“Water. Give me water.”) besought a faint voice.