He looked at the date. The message had been handed in two days before, and had been lying at Cathcart for lack of an opportunity of transport. The words swam before his eyes, and his blood ran cold with a chill fear. This brooding presentiment, then, had not come upon him for nothing. Handing his companion the telegram, he strode to the door and called for Sam.
“’Nkos?” and the native came running up with alacrity.
“Saddle-up Fleck and the young horse, Sam, and be ready to start in half an hour at the outside.”
“Yeh bo, ’Nkos,” replied Sam, too well accustomed to his master’s ways to be astonished at anything; and he retired to carry out his orders.
Quickly Claverton went over to arrange with Jim Brathwaite for his absence, and long before the appointed time he was ready to start. He fidgeted about, looking at his watch every moment; and lo, just three minutes short of the half-hour his retainer appeared with the two horses.
“My dear fellow, don’t give a thought to me,” said Naylor, warmly, in response to his explanations of this sudden departure. “I shall make myself comfortable while you are away, never fear. Now, don’t delay any longer. Your duty shall be looked after all right,” he added, and with a close hand grip he bade his friend farewell.
Claverton, with his trusty follower, sped on across the hostile ground, every yard of which might conceal a foe; but of this he took less than no heed. All his thoughts were ahead of him by the hundred and odd miles or so which he had to traverse. His plan was to change horses half-way, leaving Sam to follow at leisure, once they were well out of the localities where they might fall in with roving bands of the enemy; and to push on, even if he killed his steed in the undertaking. Away in the blue heavens clouds of vultures, the ubiquitous scavengers of Southern Africa, were visible, poised above the scene of the late conflict; and these grew fainter and fainter, till they were lost to view in the far distance, and the sun began to decline in the west as the travellers kept steadily on over hill and dale, carefully eschewing short cuts and keeping to the beaten track. Once they were descried by a group of Kafir scouts, who, from their position on a hill-top, opened fire at long range, and of course ineffectually.
“Sam,” exclaimed Claverton, as they were saddling up to continue their road, after a short halt, “there’s a devil of a storm coming up. Look there.”
The native glanced upwards. “There is, Inkos,” he replied; “but we may just ride through it and escape.”
Great inky clouds were gathering with alarming rapidity, and hastening to unite themselves to the dense black pall which drew on, silent, spectral, and gigantic, over the mountain-tops, and a dull, muffled roar boomed nearer and nearer between the fitful puffs of hot wind which fanned the travellers’ faces. And now the scene was a weird one indeed. They were just entering a long defile—for they had reached the mountains—and along the rugged crags of the lonely heights towering above on either side, the red flashes were playing. Higher and higher piled the solid cloud-masses, and a few large drops of rain began to patter upon the stones. The gloom deepened, and all Nature was hushed as if in preparation for the coming battle of the elements.