“I was going to say that I feel certain you are quite safe in trusting yonder Zulu; he hated his brutal masters even more than I did, and I suspect he only interfered to-day because he knew that if he did not do so his own skin would pay the forfeit. He once escaped, and was at large for upwards of three months, and I suppose he must then have unearthed this hiding-place. He killed one of the guards who stood in his way, and was to have been shot when retaken; but the Holy Three relented at the last moment, on the score of his being such an excellent hunter with native weapons—a great consideration with these people, as the stock of ammunition which has sufficed them for fifty years is getting rather low. They got a dozen barrels of powder out of my little camp, and thought they had found a treasure, but, unfortunately for them, it was fine blasting powder, which blew half a dozen of their rotten old shooting-irons to pieces, and opportunely hurried two of their biggest ruffians into the nether world.”
A discussion then ensued, in which Grenville closely questioned their new ally, and received answers which gave him a very fair idea of their present position and prospects, and confirmed him in the knowledge that their party would never be permitted to leave the Mormon territory alive if those gentry had their own way. “Only one man,” said Winfield, “ever got away alive, and he, curiously enough, must have escaped two or three days before you got in. He was a very decent man, and a great agitator for reform, and was consequently popular with many of the people, but particularly obnoxious to the Holy Three and their immediate satellites, the Avenging Angels.”
Grenville obtained an accurate description of this fortunate (?) individual, and had little difficulty in convincing Winfield that the man in question—or, rather, all that remained of him—now hung rotting ignominiously upon a cross near the great stone stairway.
“That explains their coolness over it all,” said Winfield. “I told the guards that he would be back in two months’ time with an army to reduce them, but they only laughed, and said ‘they guessed their little country was just about impregnable,’ and they were glad to see the last of him, for he was only a nuisance.”
“Well,” said Grenville at last, “the best thing you can do now you’ve had a smoke and relieved your mind, Winfield, is to go to sleep, for you stand much in need of rest after your long exposure and involuntary fast. I’ll have a chat with the Zulus now, and, if they consent, I propose to lie hidden here for a couple of days, so that you can get your strength up. So pray turn in at once—you too, Alf.” And leaving the pair to make their rough beds of dried leaves, he joined the Zulus, who were talking earnestly together in the doorway of the cavern.
Amaxosa was quite confident that their place of shelter was altogether unknown to the Mormons, as they had never been able to find him until one evil day when they had stumbled across him a score of miles from the spot they now occupied. Asked whether there was any way out of the country, he said “No”; he had most thoroughly searched for a means of exit, and had concluded that the white people were witch-finders, who got in and out by flying over the mountains.
On being asked how he was brought in, he said he did not know, as he was knocked senseless with a blow from the butt-end of a rifle before he was captured, and had been expected to die for a week thereafter. Myzukulwa had told him the story of their entry into this wonderful country, and he (Amaxosa) was “very willing to follow and to fight for such great and wise white chiefs, and would be their man to the death.” Grenville then bestowed some tobacco upon his new ally, and, after a hearty handshake, sent both the brothers to lie down, whilst he himself took the first watch, and cudgelled his brains as to the further movements of the whole party. Three hours later, when he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and lay down to rest, after having seen Amaxosa on guard, and given him strict orders that no fire was on any consideration to be alight during the daytime, Grenville’s mind was quite made up.
They must carry off Miss Winfield by a coup de main in the course of the next few days, occupying the interim in choosing out and victualling one or two exceptionally strong positions between their present refuge and the great stairway. They must hold each of these as long as was possible, falling back by degrees, and, after fighting their ultimate position to the last gasp, endeavour to take the foe by surprise, and circumvent—or, if needful, cut their way through—the guard, which, he had no doubt, was already rigidly posted in the subterranean roadway, and so regain the Pass and the outside world.
The plan was dangerous to a degree, but was in fact the only one which offered the slightest chance of success; their own act had brought them into this mysterious country, and nothing short of supreme audacity and the most determined bravery could carry them out again. Moreover, Grenville was quite resolved not to go away empty-handed. Granted that the place really was, as Winfield had said, simply alive with gold, he meant both Leigh and himself to have a lion’s share—not that either was greedy of fortune, but both, as younger sons of old families, had keenly felt the snubs of wealth, and it would truly be a grand thing if they could fill their pockets out of nature’s inexhaustible stores.
Their present position, except by trenching advisedly upon their supplies, was untenable for any length of time; this had come out in the course of Grenville’s questions to Amaxosa.