So sudden and unlooked-for is this attack, that Jim’s men are for the moment completely taken by surprise. It is, moreover, unparalleled in its fierceness and determination, for the Kafirs press boldly forward, waving their weapons. Some of them even may be seen snapping off their assegais in preparation for a charge.
“Steady, Allen, old boy. That’s a new kind of a tuning-fork,” remarks Claverton, as a bit of pot-leg whistles between his ear and that of him addressed, with a vicious whirr. “No use ducking when it’s past, you know. Hallo!”
His attention is drawn by two men struggling, a white man and a Kafir. The savage, pinned against the very base of the cliff described, is vainly striving to free his right wrist from his antagonist’s grasp, so as to use the assegai which, held flat against the rock, is useless to him; the white man, finding it all he can do to hold on to the other’s throat; and thus the two are struggling, each unable to use his weapon. Then, in response to a half-choked shout from the Kafir, several of his countrymen are seen rushing through the bush to his assistance, when lo, a quick movement, something gleams; the white man throws his adversary off, and with a couple of bounds is at Claverton’s side panting, as, crouching behind a bush to dodge several shots aimed at him, he wipes the blade of his sheath-knife on the ground.
“Ripped—the beggar—up.”
“Deuce you did! Well done, Gough. A smart bit of work that,” rejoins his chief.
And now the great cliff thunders back in tremendous echoes the volley-firing. Two of Brathwaite’s men have fallen, shot dead, another has been overwhelmed in a sudden rush of the fierce foe, who becomes more and more daring, and assegaied in a moment. Several are slightly wounded; and Jim, seeing that no time is to be lost if they are to avoid being surrounded, gives the word to fall back on higher ground, to a point where his practised eye detects better facilities for defence, and for holding out until assistance comes. Suddenly somebody exclaims:
“Any one seen Jack Armitage?” A chill of blank consternation goes through all who hear it.
“Eh, what? Where’s Jack? Where’s Jack?” echo several voices.
“He was close to me when first we began to retire,” says Claverton. “He may be there yet. Come along, boys, we’ll pick him up, wherever he is. Who’ll volunteer? We can’t leave poor Jack to be chopped up by these devils?” Even as he speaks there floats through his brain the echo of those soft, entreating words whispered in the hour of parting: “You will not run any unnecessary risks, even for other people. Your life belongs to me now, love!” And side by side with the tender thought, runs the consciousness that he cannot leave a comrade to a certain and cruel death.
“I will.” “I will.” “The devil’s in it but we’ll find Jack.”