The Dust of Conflict

by Harold Bindloss

The others understood as much already, and it was because they did not know exactly where the cazadores were they were lying there. It was also a somewhat important question, and they lay still waiting for an answer until a faintly rhythmic sound came out of the silence. It sank beyond hearing, but rose again, a trifle louder; and Appleby’s heart throbbed as he recognized the tramp of marching men, while a half-articulate sound rose from the Sin Verguenza. They were hungry and very weary, and starvation waited them if they crawled back into the swamps; while the road that led to safety was closed by the troops. It was, however, evident that their leader knew his business, and Appleby fancied that if the detachment was not a strong one they might still break through.

In the meanwhile the rhythmic tramp was steadily growing louder, and he could tell by the stirring of those about him that they were waiting in strained expectancy, until there was a patter of footsteps, and a man came running down the road. He flung himself down gasping beside Maccario, and his voice was breathless as he said, “It is one company only.”

“Good!” said Maccario dryly. “If they see nothing it is also well. Then the road will be open from here to Adeje. On the other hand, if they have good eyes it is unfortunate for them.”

There was a faint rattle and clicking as the men fidgeted with magazine slide, or snapped open breaches to make sure that a cartridge lay in the chamber. Then an impressive silence followed, which seemed to grow more intense as the tramp of marching men came ringing sharply down the dim white road. Perhaps the officer who led them trusted to the scout who would never bring him a warning back again, or had lately arrived from Spain, and did not know that the man who sought the Sin Verguenza was apt to find them where he least expected. Then a faintly musical jingling and the rattle of wheels became audible too, and Appleby shook his weariness from him as, with the dust rolling about them, dim figures swung into sight round a bend of the road. The carretera was a broad one, and they appeared to be marching carelessly in open fours, for laughter and the hum of voices came out of the dust.

Raising his head a little he glanced behind him, but the Sin Verguenza were ominously still and silent now, and he could only see Maccario’s shoulder, and in places a glint of metal where the moonlight sifted down. Again a quiver ran through him, and his heart thumped painfully as he watched the men below through the openings between the aloes. Then he set his lips and grappled with an almost uncontrollable desire to cry out and warn them. He had been hunted by them, and had seen their handiwork in the ashes of burnt aldeas that had given his comrades shelter; but for that Morales was responsible, and the men were for the most part conscripts reft from their homes in Spain, and going with laughter on their lips to their doom. The Sin Verguenza struck at night, in silence, and were seldom contented with a strategetical victory. Still, because the rattle of riflery carries far, they held their hand while several loose fours shuffling through the dust went by, and Appleby felt a trifle easier.

Then there was another space of waiting before the dust that had commenced to sift down grew thicker again as the head of the company swung round the bend. They were also marching easily with gaps between the files, and the jingle of sling, swivel, scabbard, and canteen rang through their trampling, while the rifles twinkled as the fours swung across the breadths of moonlight between the shadows of the palms. They were young men, most of them, and some little more than boys; while here and there one or two, still unprovided with tropical outfit, wore the kepi and the cazadores, green; but Appleby had seen the men of the Peninsula fight before, and checked a groan. He was one of the Sin Verguenza, and knew what awaited him if Morales was successful, but the work on hand seemed horrible to him just then.

The tension grew almost insupportable, when one of the soldiers who had a clear voice started the “Campanadas,” and the refrain, that spoke of grapes and kisses, rolled from four to four. Melodious as it was it seemed to jar with a horrible discordance upon the silence. Still, there was a chance that the troops might pass unscathed yet if their officers saw nothing, and it was with tingling nerves Appleby watched the fours swing by. Half the company had passed him now.

Then there was a shout from one of the leading fours, and a sharp order, while a man came running along the line; and the files in front of Appleby stood still looking about them. He felt his eyes grow dim, and his fingers quiver on the rifle stock, while his heart throbbed painfully. Then a mounted officer appeared, apparently on a mule; there was another order, though Appleby had no notion what it was, and while the feet commenced to shuffle Maccario cried out.

Appleby felt the rifle butt jar on his shoulder and the barrel jump in his hand, but saw nothing for a moment beyond wisps of drifting smoke. It hung about the aloes and obscured the road, but cries and execrations and orders came out of it, until the rifles of the Sin Verguenza flashed again. What happened to the cazadores was not apparent then, but it was evident that some at least survived, for there was a rush of feet in the smoke, and men with bayonets plunged in among the aloes. They failed to force a passage through the horrible spines, and another blast of riflery met them in the face as they floundered and rent themselves. They had done what men could do, for it was usually a leader’s blunder that involved the troops of Spain in defeat, but no flesh and blood unsheltered could face that withering fire, and some went down among the aloes, while the rest flung themselves upon the murderous rifles.

Then the Sin Verguenza came out from their lair, and Appleby swung his hat off as he ran with a mob of ragged men behind him towards a slim, white-clad officer who was standing in the road. It was in Castilian he shouted, but a bitter laugh and the flash of a pistol answered him, and there was a glint of steel as half-seen men rallied about their leader. The rifles, however, flashed again, and the cluster of cazadores melted away as the Sin Verguenza poured out into the road. Appleby sprang over the fallen officer, and stood still gasping and conscious for the first time that his foot was paining him. Shadowy men were flying round the bend of the road but there were, so far as he could see, very few of them; while the glance he cast round him showed what had happened to the rest.