Wilmshurst of the Frontier Force

by Percy F. Westerman

Tethering his pony by means of a long hide-rope—for out of consideration for the animal he forbore to hobble it, since there was a possibility that he might not be able to return to it, Wilmshurst fastened the rolled ground-sheet over his shoulder after the manner of a bandolier, and holding his rifle ready for instant action began his seven-mile trek. In order to baffle the enemy scouts should they be out, Dudley wore a pair of flat-soled boots to the feet of which were fixed a dummy pair of soles and heels in the reverse way. Any one picking up the spoor would be under the erroneous belief that the wearer was walking in the opposite direction to the actual one.

"Judging by my footsteps I must be a pigeon-toed blighter," soliloquised Wilmshurst, as he noted the turned-in prints in the soft ground. "I must look out to that, or I'll give the show away."

On and on he went, making his way from one point of cover to another, yet without seeing or hearing the faintest sign of the German patrols. It was not a reassuring business, for scouts might be in the vicinity, and a scout unseen is a far greater menace than one who incautiously betrays his presence.

Following the course of a donga he found that the narrow valley formed an admirable means for a column to advance if protected by flankers, but after tracing it for the best part of two miles Wilmshurst discovered that it terminated abruptly, merging into a vast open plain.

Cautiously the subaltern crept up the sloping face of the donga until his head was just above the edge of the level ground. By the aid of the glasses he made a prolonged and cautious survey. Eight hundred yards on his right front were swarms of vultures busily engaged in their revolting pastime; at a similar distance on the left were four springbok grazing unconcernedly. Both signs tended to prove that there were no human beings about, for in the case of the springbok their keen scent enabled them to detect the presence of the hunter to such an extent that it was a difficult matter to get within easy range of them.

Having taken a series of compass bearings and entered a few details on his map Wilmshurst started off for a kopje midway between the aasvogels and the springbok. Although he took the greatest pains to keep out of sight the nimble quadrupeds suddenly bolted, flying like the wind. A few seconds later the vultures rose from their interrupted repast, flying almost immediately over the prone form of the subaltern.

"Fishy—very," mused Wilmshurst. "What made the aasvogels fly this way? I'll sit tight and await developments."

For the best part of half an hour he remained perfectly quiet, not even risking to use his binoculars, lest the reflected light might attract the attention of a hostile scout. By this time the storm was drawing nearer—slowly but surely. As yet no rain had fallen. There were the indigo-coloured clouds ahead; behind the sky was one unbroken expanse of dirty yellow haze. It reminded Wilmshurst of the efforts of an amateur painter trying to "lay on" a coat of yellow paint with a tar-stained brush. Far away to the north came the reverberations of a peal of thunder. It was Nature's signal to the wary to take cover.

Finding at the end of thirty minutes that nothing happened to indicate the presence of an enemy, for the aasvogels had returned to their carrion feast, Wilmshurst essayed the remaining portion of his interrupted advance. The kopje, he decided, was to be the extreme limit of his reconnoitring expedition. From it he ought to be able to form a tolerably accurate idea of the nature of the terrain up to the base of the natural bastions of the Karewenda Hills.

Wilmshurst had taken only half a dozen steps when a rifle shot rang out. Practically simultaneously with the shrill whistle of the bullet something seemed to hit the subaltern on the left shoulder like a blow from a hammer.