At length a line of blackened, calcined posts told him that he had emerged from the kraal, and that he was on the line formerly occupied by the stockade. For another fifty or sixty yards he held on, until the smoke cleared considerably; then changing direction, he began to circumvent the abandoned line of defence until he came to the still held position.
It was not long before several bullets, whizzing perilously close, warned him that the enemy had spotted him through the eddying wreaths of vapour. Others, striking the earth with a dull thud, ricochetted within a few inches of his feet.
Bending, until his jars were almost bumping on the ground, the subaltern summoned his remaining energies in a final spurt and doubled almost recklessly towards his goal.
Through the smoke he heard the sharp challenge of one of the sentries. He tried to reply, but no sound came from his parched throat. The man raised his rifle, when his sergeant, recognising the dishevelled, swaying form of Second-Lieutenant Wilmshurst, ordered the man to recover arms. Then a white mist swam before the subaltern's eyes, and, retaining sufficient presence of mind to place the hardly-won jars of water upon the ground, he stumbled inertly into the arms of the Rhodesian sergeant.
CHAPTER XVIII
IM THE ENEMY'S POSITION
It was not long before Wilmshurst regained consciousness, to find that his precious stock of water was being boiled under the direction of the patrol-corporal. With admirable restraint the men, knowing that the subaltern had risked a horrible death for the sake of his black sergeant, had put the whole of the liquid to boil, insisting that a fair distribution would be made when the water was fit for drinking. A little over two gallons was not much among so many, but it would just assuage their thirst until the steadily-declining heat of the smouldering ruins permitted access to the well.
Producing his pump-filter, for Bela Moshi had taken particular pains to leave it in a safe place before the sortie, the subaltern strained the liquid. It was warm and insipid, yet it was now free from contamination, and Bela Moshi drank it with avidity.
A suspicion of his broad smile flitted across his face as he took the life-giving draught.