And now the “special service” band has reached the ridge some five hundred yards above and beyond the main body, and its leader begins to think about doubling upon the wily foe. A smothered chuckle at his elbow makes him turn. Below, not six yards off, lying on his stomach on a rock, is a huge red Kafir. His piece is cocked, and he is worming himself into a good position for a safe and sure shot; and the chuckle proceeds from Hicks, who stands with his revolver aimed well between the greasy shoulders of the recumbent barbarian. But the quick ears of the savage detect the sound. In a twinkling he wriggles round, but, before he has time to spring up, his “Youw!” of consternation is cut short in his throat as Hicks’ revolver cracks, and the ball passing fair through the Kafir’s ribs, the huge carcase rolls from its perch, falling with a crash into the bush below.
“Sold again?” exclaims Hicks, smothering a shout of laughter. “Not this journey, my boy. I never saw anything more comic than that bird’s face when he looked round.”
Three more Kafirs spring up at their very feet, but before they can lift an assegai even, or at any rate use one, they are shot dead, almost point-blank. And now several dark heads may be detected peering in the direction of this new danger, but this is just what our friends have been expecting, and, crack! crack! crack! go their trusty breech-loaders as they advance down through the scrub, driving the enemy before them.
But the said enemy is in full retreat. He has had enough, and yonder over the ridge, dark bodies are running, by twos and threes, while the fire of the victorious whites still tells as it is kept constantly playing upon the discomfited savages. Then Jim gives the order to mount and push forward. No time is to be lost after this delay, or the plan will fall through. His troop has suffered by two men wounded and the loss of three horses, the dismounted riders making their way as best they can by holding on to the stirrup of a comrade. Nothing, indeed, could have been worse than the enemy’s marksmanship.
They make their way out of the hollow without any further opposition and are upon the heights overlooking the pass. Have they been misinformed, or are they too soon? Jim hardly thinks they are too late. It may be that the Kafirs in charge of the cattle, hearing the firing, have driven these off in another direction. Suddenly an exclamation breaks from his lips.
“Oh-h-h! Good Lord! Where on earth are those damned Dutchmen?”
For he has been descending all this time, and is standing looking up the pass. There is the great cliff, towering many hundreds of feet above, and there about two miles off the whole defile is filled with a dense mass of cattle, a cloud of dust arising before them as their drivers urge them along with many a shout which is borne to the ears of the disappointed pursuers. Even the very spoors at their feet were tantalisingly fresh.
“Perhaps they’ve gone round up above,” suggested Naylor.
“Maybe. In the meantime we’ll go down and lie in wait so as to hem the niggers in when they turn. Van Heerden’s sure to have got his men round too far.”
An outpost was left on the rising ground, and the rest descended. They were about to take up a position on either side of the road and wait; when, without any warning, a tremendous volley is poured into them; and all the bush is alive with dark shapes—hundreds and hundreds of them—darting from cover to cover, yelling and brandishing their assegais as they advance nearer and nearer, while a constant fire is kept up by those in front.