In the Whirl of the Rising Part 37

"There need be no anxiety about him." Thus the cheerful dictum! Need there not? But to one there, at any rate, 'anxiety about him' turned to something like anguish, as the morning wore on, and still he did not appear. It needed all of Clare Vidal's splendid pluck and self-command to conceal her terrible anxiety. To those nearest to her, she could no longer keep her secret by reason of it; no longer, indeed, did she care to.

"Oh, it'll be all right, Clare," said Fullerton, cheerfully and good-naturedly, when appealed to. "You've seen what Lamont's made of, and you bet he won't enjoy being fussed after by women when he's got a bit of sharpish work in hand." In despair she turned to Wyndham.

"Do help me," she pleaded. "If you won't I'll go alone. Get some of the men who last saw him--them--and make a thorough search. Who knows what may have happened. I will go with you. I can borrow Mrs Grunberger's side-saddle."

"I'll do what I can, Miss Vidal, but only on condition that you remain here."

"But--I can't. I can't."

"But you must," he answered firmly. "Just think. You'd be far more of a hindrance than a help. And we can't do with hindrances."

She gave way, and Wyndham set to work to organise a search or a relief, as the case might be. There was no lack of volunteers. The troop was mustered, and it was found that besides Lamont there were seven men missing. And now for the first time something like a feeling of blank uneasiness spread through the whole force.

Was there ground for it? We shall see. Some three hours earlier Lamont and a mere handful of men were pursuing a disorganised ma.s.s of the fleeing Matabele. The latter were thoroughly demoralised; panic-stricken beyond all thought--and seemingly, all power--of resistance. They would allow themselves to be shot down as they ran, sullenly, doggedly, not even begging for quarter; and little mercy had the avengers on the murderers and mutilators of women and children. The horses were getting blown, and then it occurred to Lamont that he was allowing his excitement to outstrip his prudential instincts. Quietly he conveyed the recommendation to retire--he could not give an order, for none of these were his own men.

Some of them acted upon it, and some did not. And then as the former reined in their panting steeds, an unpleasant discovery was made. In the eagerness of the pursuit they had wandered afield. They made out, as well as the mist would allow, that they had got among hills, and a.s.suredly, judging by the entire absence of sound, they had got right away from the main body. In short they did not know where they were, and until the mist should lift did not know whether to bear to the right or the left. The situation was growing awkward.

And to render it more awkward still, they could hear the savages calling to one another on either side of and rather above them. This looked as though the weakness of the party had been discovered. And just then, a curtain of mist rolled backward and upward, revealing granite-strewn slopes, and along them, resting after their wild and headlong flight, crouched ma.s.ses of armed warriors. These, seeing the mere handful of whites, sprang up immediately and came for them, uttering wild yells.

But not at once did they close. This might be but the advance party of the force which had meted out to them such terrible punishment, and might again whirl down upon them in the mist as it had done before. So they kept a parallel course, as they ran in pursuit, loth to quit the welcome refuge of rock and boulder in the event of surprise.

The party now realised that it was in a tight place. The horses were far from fresh, and the fleet-footed savages could keep pace with them on the upper slopes. Even then all might have turned out well, but the mist, which had befriended them by concealing their weakness, now lifted entirely, dispelled by a brilliant flash of sunlight. In a few moments the whole situation stood revealed. They were in a sort of labyrinth between low stony kopjes, and not one of the main body was in sight.

With a very roar of hate and exultation, the whole ma.s.s of savages, realising their helplessness, swept down upon them from both sides.

"Spur up, boys. No time for shooting," cried Lamont, instinctively the commander. "Spur up! It's our only chance."

They know this, and they do spur up. If the horses had got _anything_ left in them they have to travel now. Again, instinctively, Lamont holds back to cover the rear, though he could easily have been among the foremost.

For some minutes this terrible race continues--its prizes dear life; and now as the ground becomes more level, the hors.e.m.e.n are gaining. Through the fierce hissing and the thunder of the shouts of the pursuers nothing else can be heard, and it is literally every man for himself.

In the wild din, we repeat, nothing can be heard, consequently the residue of the refugees are totally unaware that one among their number is down, lying pinned to the ground by his horse but otherwise uninjured, awaiting the spears of hundreds of savages aroused to the last degree of vengeful exasperation. But such is sadly the case--and that man is Piers Lamont.

This is "where he is."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

NO HOPE!

The towns.h.i.+p of Gandela was practically in a state of siege. Taught tardy wisdom--providentially not too tardy--by recent happenings, its authorities had caused a strong laager to be formed, and within this its inhabitants gathered at night. To those of them who owned stands in outlying parts of the towns.h.i.+p this was a considerable disadvantage, for in the event of attack their property would inevitably be looted and their houses burnt. Moreover, the accommodation within the laager was of necessity cramped and comfortless, and involved a considerable amount of promiscuous 'herding,' But in those lurid days, when tale succeeded tale of treacherous ma.s.sacre and mutilation throughout the length and breadth of the land,--unhappily, for the most part true,--when refugees, singly or in groups, would come panting in with hair-breadth escapes to narrate, unspeakably glad to have escaped with their bare lives,--when, at any moment, the Matabele impis might swoop down upon them in such force as to tax their uttermost resources--why, then, people were not particular as to a little discomfort more or less.

And of this, in the Gandela laager at any rate, there was plenty.

Transport had been scanty and dear enough, in all conscience, before, when it was not uncommon for a whole span of oxen to succ.u.mb on the road to the fell rinderpest. Now, since the outbreak, when anything like regular communication had been cut off--the roads only being kept open by strong and well-armed patrols and then at the cost of fierce fighting--the situation at outlying posts such as Gandela became more than serious. The food supplies threatened to run short. There was not much fear of any attack in the daytime, or at all events without ample warning, for the surrounding country was carefully scouted on every side; and such being the case those who dwelt on the outlying stands occupied their houses until sundown, when they collected within the laager. Among such were the Fullertons.

The worthy d.i.c.k grumbled terribly; not at the prevailing discomfort, but that having womenkind to look after he was debarred from joining any field force--at all events for the present--for the plan which we heard formulated for the raising of such a force under the command of Lamont was of necessity in abeyance by reason of the disappearance of the latter.

Disappearance, indeed, was the word. The men who were with him when flying for their lives had been utterly unable to tell when or where they had lost sight of him. They had, however, been able to guide the relief party under Peters and Wyndham to the place within the hills where they had been first attacked. But--no trace of him whom they sought. Farther on, they came upon the bodies of two others of the stragglers--as usual, hacked and mutilated--those of their horses, similarly treated, lying hard by. But of Lamont there was absolutely no trace. He seemed to have disappeared, horse and man.

The situation contained one hopeful feature. If there was no trace of him in life, equally was there no trace of his death; no blood marks, such as would probably have been the case. The innumerable footprints of the pursuing Matabele might have obliterated such, yet it was improbable that to experienced spoor-readers--and there were several here--some trace, however faint, should not be discernible; and herein lay room for hope.

The missing man might be in close hiding among the kopjes. To this end, Peters and his force spent a long time searching the wild and broken ground, and, incidentally, shooting an odd Matabele or two engaged in outlying scouting. But the search proved futile; moreover, a large impi--far too large for them to engage unless they desired to court disaster--appeared on their front, effectually barring further advance.

Sorrowfully they returned to the Kezane to report their failure.

That was a day destined to remain engraved in lurid letters on Clare Vidal's memory as long as she should live. She would not have believed the human mind to be capable of bearing so acute a stage of anguish as that which filled hers when the party returned, without--him. But with her it took no form of tears or hysteria. Pale, stony-eyed, she asked her questions calmly, and with coolness and ac.u.men. Had they really searched exhaustively. Was it likely he had been taken prisoner? In a word--was there any hope?

"There's life, you must remember, Miss Vidal," had answered the officer in command of the Scouts. "The very fact of finding no trace of him shows that he was not killed there, at any rate. If he has been captured--well, prisoners have been known to escape. There have been instances of such."

"But--not many?"

The other's heart smote him. He had known of cases wherein men had blown their own brains out rather than accept the chances of life on such odds. He could only repeat--

"Well, there have been such instances. Natives very rarely take prisoners at all. The fact that they had not killed Lamont there and then, and it is certain they had not, seems to show some powerful motive for sparing his life for the present. And, while there is life--"

"--There is hope. Yes, I know. And now, what is going to be done to try and save him?"

The other felt troubled, and looked it. His orders were to keep the road open, and afford escort to such outlying whites as desired to reach a place of safety. He did not see how he could take his troop off this duty, to engage in an indefinite search for one man, who would almost certainly have been murdered long before they should so much as hear of him--even if they ever did.

"This is one thing that's going to be done, Miss Vidal," cut in Peters.

"I'm going to try and find him,--I for one. Wyndham I know will make another, and it'll be strange if we don't find a good few more who'll volunteer."

"I'll go with you," said Clare.

"Excuse me--no. That can't be done, Miss Vidal. It's quite impossible.

Not a man would volunteer on those terms."

She thought a moment. "You are right, Mr Peters. Yes. I see that.

For me there is nothing for it but to--wait. To wait!" she repeated bitterly.

"And--hope," supplemented Peters. "If any man is going to find out what's become of Lamont, I'm that man. He almost threw away his life once to save mine, and now I'll either return with him if he's above ground or I won't return at all."

This conversation had taken place within the living-room of Grunberger's house, and now Clare's self-possession utterly gave way. She sank into a chair, and sobbed.

"Cheer up, Miss Vidal, cheer up," said Peters briskly. "If it's in the power of mortal man to find Lamont, I'm going to be that man. There's more'n one could tell you I'm not easy put off a job I once make up my mind to bring through. I'm not saying it to brag. Now I'm going to collect as many as I can, and we'll start at dark."

"G.o.d will bless you," was all she could say, as she wrung the hard, gnarled hand of the honest pioneer.

"This is a devilish sad, romantic sort of business," said the officer of Scouts; for the circ.u.mstances of the engagement, thus tragically broken, were pretty well known now all over the camp. "Lovely girl, too, by Jove!" Peters nodded. "Good, too," he said. "Good and plucky. She's the only girl I've ever clapped eyes on good enough for Lamont."

The other smiled half-heartedly. This was a piece of hero wors.h.i.+p that he, naturally, could not enthuse over.

Peters was as good as his word--and that night he, with over twenty men, well-armed and rationed, started on their quest. The following morning the Fullertons and Clare Vidal, and the men who had been wounded in the fight, started in the other direction, that of Gandela to wit, under a strong escort of Scouts. With them, too, went the storekeeper's family.

Grunberger himself refused to budge, and as it was decided that the Kezane Store would form a very good base for supplies, and something of a garrison was left there for the present, there was no need for him to do so.

"_Ach! so_. We shall haf Zeederberg's coaches outspanning here again before de month is out," he declared, as he bade them a hearty good-bye.

No obstacles met them on the return trek, but to one at least the scenes of the former terror and strife were as holy ground as they pa.s.sed slowly over them. More than one ghastly trace of that grim running fight met the eye, but to Clare's mind and to Clare's gaze, there was only one sight--that of him who had hurried to their rescue, of him whom she had watched with admiration, yes and love, she knew it now--so skilfully and intrepidly handling his gallant little force. The horrors of that day were all merged in this. And in those three short days she had loved, and lost! No, it would not bear dwelling upon.

How the subsequent days were lived through Clare was never quite sure.