Suddenly the shots grew scattering above them, then ceased entirely. This was not what Alan had hoped for. Graham’s men, enraged and made desperate by Rossland’s death, would rush the cabin immediately. Scarcely had the thought leaped into his mind when he heard swiftly approaching shouts, the trampling of feet, and then the battering of some heavy object at the barricaded door of Sokwenna’s cabin. In another minute or two their escape would be discovered and a horde of men would pour down into the ravine.
Mary tugged at his hand. “Let us hurry,” she pleaded.
What happened then seemed madness to the girl, for Alan turned and with her hand held tightly in his started up the side of the ravine, apparently in the face of their enemies. Her heart throbbed with sudden fear when their course came almost within the circle of light made by the burning cabin. Like shadows they sped into the deeper shelter of the corral buildings, and not until they paused there did she understand the significance of the hazardous chance they had taken. Already Graham’s men were pouring into the ravine.
“They won’t suspect we’ve doubled on them until it is too late,” said Alan exultantly. “We’ll make for the kloof. Stampede and the herdsmen should arrive within a few hours, and when that happens—”
A stifled moan interrupted him. Half a dozen paces away a crumpled figure lay huddled against one of the corral gates.
“He is hurt,” whispered Mary, after a moment of silence.
“I hope so,” replied Alan pitilessly. “It will be unfortunate for us if he lives to tell his comrades we have passed this way.”
Something in his voice made the girl shiver. It was as if the vanishing point of mercy had been reached, and savages were at their backs. She heard the wounded man moan again as they stole through the deeper shadows of the corrals toward the nigger-head bottom. And then she noticed that the mist was no longer in her face. The sky was clearing. She could see Alan more clearly, and when they came to the narrow trail over which they had fled once before that night it reached out ahead of them like a thin, dark ribbon. Scarcely had they reached this point when a rifle shot sounded not far behind. It was followed by a second and a third, and after that came a shout. It was not a loud shout. There was something strained and ghastly about it, and yet it came distinctly to them.
“The wounded man,” said Alan, in a voice of dismay. “He is calling the others. I should have killed him!”
He traveled at a half-trot, and the girl ran lightly at his side. All her courage and endurance had returned. She breathed easily and quickened her steps, so that she was setting the pace for Alan. They passed along the crest of the ridge under which lay the willows and the pool, and at the end of this they paused to rest and listen. Trained to the varied night whisperings of the tundras Alan’s ears caught faint sounds which his companion did not hear. The wounded man had succeeded in giving his message, and pursuers were scattering over the plain behind them.