In obedience to their leader’s mandate a line of dark savages darts forth, like a tongue, from the main body. Worming noiselessly through the bush and grass, yet moving with incredible rapidity, these are advancing swiftly and surely upon the two white men, their objective the point where they can get between the latter and their horses.
These men are there to watch over the safety of the column laagered up yonder, but who shall watch over their own safety? Nearer—nearer! and now the muscles start from each bronze frame, and the fell, murderous assegai is grasped in sinewy grip. Straining eyeballs stare forth in bloodthirsty exultation. The prey is secure.
No. Not quite. The horses, whose keener faculties can discern the approach of a crowd of musky-smelling barbarians, while the denser perceptions of the two obtuse humans cannot, now cease grazing and throw up their heads and snort. Even the men can hardly close their eyes to such a danger signal as this. Starting to their feet they gaze eagerly forth, and—make for the horses as fast as they can.
Too late, however, in the case of one of them. The enemy is upon them, and one of the horses, scared by the terrible Matabele battle-hiss, and the waving of shields and the leaping of dark, fantastically arrayed forms, refuses to be caught. The owner starts to run, but what chance has he against these? He is soon overtaken, and blades rise and fall, and the ferocity of the exultant death-hiss of the barbarians mingles with the dropping rifle. Are they are keeping up on his fleeing companion, and the sputter and roll of volleys from the laager. For this is what has been happening there.
Steadily, ever with the most perfect discipline and organisation, the column had advanced, and now after upwards of a month of care and vigilance, and difficulties met and surmounted, was drawing very near its goal.
The enemy had hovered, upon its flanks since the last pitched battle, now nearly a week ago, as though making up his mind to do something towards redeeming his defeat upon that occasion; but unremitting vigilance together with a few timely and long range shells had seemed to damp his aspirations that way.
“I wonder if they’ll try conclusions with us once more, before we get there,” observed the commanding officer, scanning the country, front and flank, with his field glasses. “What do you think, Blachland?”
“I think they will, Major,” was the confident reply.
“No such luck,” growled one of the group. “After the hammering we gave them at Shangani. I tell you what it is, Blachland. These wonderful Matabele of yours are miserable devils after all. I don’t believe they’ve another kick in them,” added this cocksure Briton.