LITMIR.BIZ

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“bring the horse here; the Baas wishes to ride a little to ease his leg.”

      He did so, stopping a moment to pull the second girth tight. Then we helped Anscombe into the saddle.

      “Which way?” he asked.

      I looked at the long slope in front of us. It was steep and bad going. Anscombe might get up it on the horse before the Kaffirs overtook us, but it was extremely problematical if we could do so. I might perhaps if I mounted behind him and the horse could bear us both, which was doubtful, but how about our poor servants? He saw the doubt upon my face and said in his quiet way,

      “You may remember that our white-bearded friend told us to make straight for his place in case of any difficulty with the Basutos. It seems to have arisen.”

      “I know he did,” I answered, “but I cannot make up my mind which is the more dangerous, Marnham or the Basutos. I rather think that he set them on to us.”

      “It is impossible to solve problems at this hour of the morning, Quatermain, and there is no time to toss. So I vote for the Temple.”

      “It seems our best chance. At any rate that’s your choice, so let’s go.”

      Then I sang out to the Kaffirs, “The Basutos are on us. We go to Tampel for refuge. Run!”

      My word! they did run. I never saw athletes make better time over the first quarter of a mile. We ran, too, or at least the horse did, I hanging on to the stirrup and Anscombe holding both the rifles beneath his arm. But the beast was tired, also blown out with that morning feed of mealies, so our progress was not very fast. When we were about two hundred yards from the wagon I looked back and saw the Basutos beginning to arrive. They saw us also, and uttering a sort of whistling war cry, started in pursuit.

      After this we had quite an interesting time. I scrambled on to the horse behind Anscombe, whereon that intelligent animal, feeling the double weight, reduced its pace proportionately, to a slow tripple, indeed, out of which it could not be persuaded to move. So I slipped off again over its tail and we went on as before. Meanwhile the Basutos, very active fellows, were coming up. By this time the yellow-wood grove in the swamp, of which I have already written, was close to us, and it became quite a question which of us would get there first (I may mention that Footsack & Co. had already attained its friendly shelter). Anscombe kicked the horse with his sound heel and I thumped it with my fist, thereby persuading it to a hand gallop.

      As we reached the outlying trees of the wood the first Basuto, a lank fellow with a mouth like a rat trap, arrived and threw an assegai at us which passed between Anscombe’s back and my nose. Then he closed and tried to stab with another assegai. I could do nothing, but Anscombe showed himself cleverer than I expected. Dropping the reins, he drew his pistol and managed to send a bullet through that child of nature’s head, so that he went down like a stone.

      “And you tell me I am a bad shot,” he drawled.

      “It was a fluke,” I gasped, for even in these circumstances truth would prevail.

      “Wait and you’ll see,” he replied, re-cocking the revolver.

      As a matter of fact there was no need for more shooting, since at the verge of the swamp the Basutos pulled up. I do not think that the death of their companion caused them to do this, for they seemed to take no notice of him. It was as though they had reached some boundary which they knew it would not be lawful for them to pass. They simply stopped, took the dead man’s assegai and shield from the body and walked quietly back towards the wagon, leaving him where he lay. The horse stopped also, or rather proceeded at a walk.

      “There!” exclaimed Anscombe. “Did I not tell you I had a presentiment that I should kill a man in this accursed wood?”

      “Yes,” I said as soon as I had recovered my breath, “but you mixed up a woman with the matter and I don’t see one.”

      “That’s true,” he replied, “I hope we shan’t meet her later.”

      Then we went on as quickly as we could, which was not very fast, for I feared lest the Basutos should change their minds and follow us. As the risk of this became less our spirits rose, since if we had lost the wagon and the oxen, at least we had saved our lives, which was almost more than we could have expected in the circumstances. At last we came to that glade where we had killed the wildebeeste not a week before. There lay its skeleton picked clean by the great brown kites that frequent the bush-veld, some of which still sat about in the trees.

      “Well, I suppose we must go on to Tampel,” said Anscombe rather faintly, for I could see that his wound was giving him a good deal of pain.

      As he spoke from round the tree whence he had first emerged, appeared Mr. Marnham, riding the same horse and wearing the same clothes. The only difference between his two entries was that the first took place in the late evening and the second in the early morning.

      “So here you are again,” he said cheerfully.

      “Yes,” I answered, “and it is strange to meet you at the same spot. Were you expecting us?”

      “Not more than I expect many things,” he replied with a shrewd glance at me, adding, “I always rise with the sun, and thinking that I heard a shot fired in the distance, came to see what was happening. The Basutos attacked you at daybreak, did they not?”

      “They did, but how did you know that, Mr. Marnham?”

      “Your servants told me. I met them running to the house looking very frightened. You are wounded, Mr. Anscombe?”

      “Yes, a couple of days ago on the border of Sekukuni’s country where the natives tried to murder us.”

      “Ah!” he replied without surprise. “I warned you the trip was dangerous, did I not? Well, come on home where my partner, Rodd, who luckily has had medical experience, will attend to you. Mr. Quatermain can tell me the story as we go.”

      So we went on up the long slope, I relating our adventures, to which Mr. Marnham listened without comment.

      “I expect that the Kaffirs will have looted the wagon and be on the way home with your oxen by now,” he said when I had finished.

      “Are you not afraid that they will follow us here?” I asked.

      “Oh no, Mr. Quatermain. We do business with these people, also they sometimes come to be doctored by Rodd when they are sick, so this place is sacred ground to them. They stopped hunting you when they got to the Yellow-wood swamp where our land begins, did they not?”

      “Yes, but now I want to hunt them. Can you give me any help? Those oxen are tired out and footsore, so we might be able to catch them up.”

      He shook his head. “We have very few people here, and by the time that you could get assistance from the Camp at Barberton, if the Commandant is able and willing to give you any, which I rather doubt, they will be far away. Moreover,” he added, dropping his voice, “let us come to an understanding. You are most welcome to any help or hospitality that I can offer, but if you wish to do more fighting I must ask you to go elsewhere. As I have told you, we are peaceful men who trade with these people, and do not wish to be involved in a quarrel with them, which might expose us to attack or bring us into trouble with the British Government which has annexed but not conquered their country. Do I make myself clear?”

      “Perfectly. While we are with you we will do nothing, but afterwards we hold ourselves at liberty to act as we think best.”

      “Quite so. Meanwhile I hope that you and Mr. Anscombe will make yourselves comfortable with us for as long as you like.”

      In my own mind I came to the conclusion that this would be for the shortest time possible, but I only said—

      “It is most kind of you to take in complete strangers thus. No, not complete,” I added, looking towards Anscombe who was following on the tired horse a few paces behind, “for you knew his father, did you not?”

      “His

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