"The bad men, bwana!" cried Coja, and began to pour out a story so rapidly that John, familiar as he now was with Swahili, could make little of it, especially as Lulu and the Masai joined in with great excitement. John silenced them, and asked Said Mohammed to explain what had happened. His story, told in more direct and natural language than John had ever heard from him before, was as follows. About half-an-hour after John had started in pursuit of the raiders Bill had rushed in, dripping wet, and reported that a large party of armed men, having raided the village north of the river, were marching rapidly down with the evident intention of swimming across and making an attack on the farm. The Bengali, according to his own account, wished to close the gate and bar the doors of the bungalow, and defend it to the last; but John afterwards had reason to believe that this was Coja's proposal, and he had found nobody to support him. Only a few minutes after Bill's arrival the strangers were seen rushing into the farmstead. The mistris, the Masai, Lulu, and the few women of the village who had been working in the fields instantly fled and hid themselves, who knows where. Said Mohammed went into his own house, and there awaited the coming of the enemy, resolved to die for the sahib whose salt he had eaten. The men seized him and dragged him forth, demanding that he should tell them where the rifles and ammunition were kept.
"That made me very ratty, sir," said the Bengali. "What! should I tell tales out of school? But when those fearful bounders threatened to roast me at my own fire I reflected that it could not be your wish, nor the wish of your excellent progenitor, that a failed B.A. of Calcutta University should be roast joint for the sake of a quantity of villainous saltpetre, et cetera, and therefore I owned up. But while the banditti were gloating and slapping their backs I took French leave by the back door, and lo! ensconced behind the barn was Coja, who like me had saved his bacon."
From their hiding-place they watched the proceedings of the enemy. They first of all carried all the rifles out of the bungalow; then from the little outhouse adjoining it they brought all the ammunition and all the "trade." The place had been stripped bare, as the Bengali found when he examined it after the men had gone. The negroes had then shouldered the loot under the direction of three Swahilis who had guns, and when they had marched off, the Swahilis had kindled a fire in the little space between the floor of the bungalow and the ground. Then they had hurried off after the rest. As soon as they had disappeared, Coja and the Bengali emerged from their hiding-places, and extinguished the fire with water from the rain-water tank near the dairy. Very little damage had been done, the incendiaries having been in such haste to overtake the rest of their party that they had not waited to ensure a good blaze.
In the first shock of hearing this bad news both John and Ferrier used such language as might have been expected of them. It was only too clear now that the sheep-stealing had been a mere blind, cunningly devised to decoy them from the farm while the real raid was effected. To John it was a disaster. When he hurried into the outhouses and bungalow and found that rifles, ammunition, and every bundle of "trade" were gone, he felt that ruin stared him in the face. It is not surprising that, tired out after his long day's work, he saw things even blacker than they were. There was still a balance at the bank, Cousin Sylvia having insisted on paying all the expenses of Mr. Halliday's tour; though if John drew upon that there would be little or no reserve in case the second year's working turned out unprofitable. Meanwhile the actual loss was heavy, and the inconvenience perhaps greater, for without the "trade" he could not pay the labourers from the village, and what with the lack of wages and the damage to their employer's prestige, John foresaw a refusal to work any more.
An examination of the bungalow showed that the floor was little more than scorched. Nothing had been taken from it except the rifles, so far as John could see. He kept very little cash, but that was intact. His rupee notes were always stowed for security in the pockets of his belt. It was clear that the raiders had come for arms and "trade" only, and having got what they wanted had wasted no time in merely looting.
"We can't sit down under this," said John, when he had realized the extent of his loss. "Yet I don't know what on earth we can do. We've two rifles and twenty rounds apiece, against--how many did these ruffians number, khansaman?"
"In mental arithmetic, sir, I am mere greenhorn, rank duffer; but from cursory squint I figure them at five hundred."
"Oh, come now, that won't do. If they had been so many they wouldn't have been in such a hurry, Where's Bill?"
"He has not come within my sphere of influence since he ran in like drowned rat to give us the straight tip, sir."
"Well, get us something to eat. We're famished. By the way, did any one recognize Juma among them?"