Harley Greenoak's Charge Part 18

The other did so; Greenoak's rifle spoke. The tin went whizzing further into the air. Before it came to the ground another bullet struck it, and sent it skimming along some twenty yards further. A shout of applause went up from the onlookers.

"There you are," said Greenoak, tranquilly. "It resolves itself into a matter of what you're accustomed to. Now, I dare say a lot of practice with that new gas-pipe of yours, Mainwaring, might get one into the way of it. Still, I don't know--" taking the weapon from him and balancing it again. "I don't like the hang of it. The hang seems to leave a lot to be desired."

Then its owner tried some more shots, with fair success, and then d.i.c.k Selmes tried some, but indifferently. The while Harley Greenoak watched the performance narrowly and critically; hardly foreseeing that this repeating rifle was destined to play some important part in the doings of not very far hence.

There were times when d.i.c.k Selmes would get low-spirited. There was not much doing just then, as we have said, and at such times his thoughts went back to Haakdoornfontein and its grim but kindly old owner, and more especially, of course, to Hazel Brandon. He had written to her since he left, but to his disappointment had received no reply. Harley Greenoak, who was the recipient of his confidences, as they lay in their hut at night smoking their turning-in pipe, would listen with exemplary patience, and with much kindly tact strive to comfort him; for he had given up urging any objection Sir Anson might entertain on the subject.

That must take its chance, he decided. There was nothing to be downhearted about, he declared. The girl wasn't born who would not think the better of him for having borne a man's share in active events, and so he would find when he met her again, and more to the same effect.

All of which was vastly comforting to d.i.c.k, who would turn in with the last impression that if any fellow were found bold enough to tell him that this world could contain a better chap than Harley Greenoak, why, he would take infinite pleasure in calling that man a liar.

A day or two later two express-riders, dusty and f.a.gged with hard riding, arrived in camp with despatches. The burden of these set forth with unmistakable plainness that the recent apparent quietude was but the calm before the storm. The plotting and disaffection was all below the surface now, but it was there, and all the more dangerous for that.

The Commandant, with two troops of Police and one seven-pounder gun, were marching to the Kangala, a deserted trading store, occupying a useful central position, there to go into permanent camp, and Inspector Chambers was instructed to join him there, with A. Troop, immediately on receipt of the said despatches.

"I say, but this express-riding must be a devilish exciting sort of joke," said d.i.c.k Selmes, as he looked at the tired and travel-worn men, who stood there waiting, while their officers, having disappeared within the hut, were examining the despatches.

"Don't know about the joke part of it, mister," answered one of them, "but it was exciting enough this morning early. Why, we narrowly missed tumbling into a gang of hundreds of 'em, all bristling with a.s.segais and things. And we shouldn't have missed that if there hadn't been the devil of a fog on at the time. We saw them, but just managed to slip away before they twigged us."

"By Jove! You don't say so. Here--come along to our hut and have a gla.s.s of grog. We've got some left, and it'll set you up again."

He had hooked an arm into one of each of them in that boyish impulsive way which had gone so far to build up his popularity with all in the camp. The men stared.

"Well, you are a good sort, whoever you are," said one of them. "But we daren't."

"Oh, it'll be all right. Good old Chambers won't know. He's too much taken up with reading his post."

"Well, we can't do it, sir--at least not until we're dismissed," the man added, rather wistfully. "By the way, is there a Mr Selmes in the camp? Maybe you're him--are you?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Why, there are letters for you then, with those we've brought. They'll be in there--with the Inspector."

"Hurrah!" cried d.i.c.k. "And, I say, you fellows. As soon as you can break loose, don't forget. There's a gla.s.s of grog going over there.

That's our hut--mine and Greenoak's," pointing it out.

Then Chambers came forth. The men saluted, and retired.

"Letters for you, just come, Selmes," said that genial officer.

d.i.c.k fairly grabbed them. Only two, one from his father, the other--He knew that writing. It was Hazel Brandon's.

We are sorry to say that once within the solitude of his hut--Greenoak was somewhere about the camp--this was the one he opened first. It was in answer to his. It was not particularly long, nor worded with any pretence at style, but it was kind, almost affectionate; dwelling on all the good times they had had together, and reminding him that he must visit them at their own farm when he had got through the more exciting part of his travels. Her people would be so glad to see him--and so forth. And d.i.c.k felt as if he were treading on air. Then he read his father's communication, and his heart smote him for not having taken it first. Sir Anson had arrived safe and sound at home again, and was all right. He referred to the rumoured coming troubles in South Africa, and hoped that if he, d.i.c.k, came in for any part of them, he would avoid attempting foolhardy feats, or running unnecessary risks, if only because he had an old fool of a father who hadn't yet done with him--and so on. Then there was a lot of home news, and warm remembrances to Harley Greenoak, so that by the time he had done, d.i.c.k felt just as soft over this letter as he had felt over the other; and, strange to say, considering his time of life, wondered if he was worth any one taking the bother of thinking about at all.

The bustle outside aroused him to the outer world; for orders had been issued to strike camp immediately, and begin the march to the Kangala, some five and twenty miles distant. But before the start was made the express-riders got their gla.s.s of grog apiece--indeed we dare not swear they did not get two.

"By Jove, Greenoak!" said d.i.c.k, as they were hurriedly rolling up their traps. "I would like to have a run across country with these express-riders one of these days. It must be thunderingly exciting."

"Would you? Well, it's likely to be, just soon, if all these accounts hold bottom, and I'm more than inclined to think they do. The Commandant is an old friend of mine, and there's no more cool-headed, intrepid man on the whole continent of Africa. If he's on the look-out, well then it's time other people were. But you'd better leave express-riding alone. Your dad confided you to my charge, remember."

d.i.c.k did remember, with his father's solicitous and affectionate letter fresh in his pocket. And yet--and yet--there was at the bottom of his mind a half-fledged lurking determination that he would take his turn at express-riding--if he saw the chance. Two men--or three--darting across a hostile country, bearing with them momentous possibilities--could any situation of adventure hold out anything more alluring? But--he said nothing more on the subject then. Harley Greenoak was sometimes away from camp--on mysterious absences.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THE EXPRESS-RIDERS.

Corporal Sandgate and Trooper Stokes rode forth from the Police camp on express duty.

They were entrusted with very important despatches indeed; to the effect that, owing to the accidental explosion of an ammunition waggon, the large force of Frontier Armed and Mounted Police in camp at the Kangala might, at any moment, find itself alarmingly short of that essential article; and containing urgent injunctions to the authorities in charge of the border post--where an ample supply was stored--to send on a sufficiency of the same, under escort, without a moment's delay.

The two men had been specially selected for this duty. Sandgate was a young Englishman of good family, who, like many a superfluous or younger son at that time, had emigrated as a recruit for the frontier corps, beginning at the bottom. He was a fine, sportsmanlike, athletic fellow, who could ride anything and anywhere, and had soon got his first hoist on the steps of the ladder of promotion. The other man, Stokes, was a wiry, hard-bitten Colonial, no longer quite young, who had been some years in the Police, but had twice lost his step as corporal owing to an inconvenient hankering after the bottle. When away from its temptations, as in the present case, he was one of the most useful men in the Force. Each, we have said, had been specially picked for this duty; Sandgate for his pluck and dash, and a reputation for readiness of resource which he had managed to set up, Stokes for his knowledge of veldt-craft.

The two express-riders started from the Kangala Camp at moon-rise, which took place early in the evening. It was calculated that, by riding all night, they should reach their objective, Fort Isiwa, not much later than the following midday. They could, by no means, cover the distance in anything like a straight line, nor was there, in many places, anything that could be called a track, which was where Stokes's veldt-craft was to come in: even then their route skirted the turbulent Gudhluka Reserve, whose swarming inhabitants were just then in a particularly dangerous state of simmering unrest, and would as likely as not make short work of a couple of members of a body whom they loved not at all, given an opportunity. Once beyond this danger belt, however, there would be little or no risk, for, after that, the country was spa.r.s.ely populated, and its inhabitants less disaffected. So the programme before these two was to push on for all they knew how, so as to get over the more risky portion of their ride under cover of night.

This being the case, it might have seemed a little strange that, having arrived at a point about five miles from camp, where the far from distinct waggon track forked into two, they should have reined in their horses, and sat listening.

"Tell you what, Sandgate," muttered Stokes, cramming a quid of tobacco into his mouth--under the circ.u.mstances, for obvious reasons, the pipe must be foregone with stern self-denial. "Tell you what. It's no good our waiting. He won't come. He's thought better of it. Greenoak's likely turned up again and stopped it."

Both men sat for a couple of minutes longer, their feet kicked loose from their stirrups. Then, as they were on the point of resuming their way, a sound caught their ears--the tread of a horse, on the way they had just come over.

"Hallo, you fellows! About given me up, I suppose?" said d.i.c.k Selmes in a low, excited tone, as he rode up.

"We were just going to," answered Stokes, who was inclined to be short of speech and a bit sour towards so obvious a specimen of the gilded youth as this one. "And, I say, if you could keep that confounded brute of yours from jingling that swagger bit so as to be heard all over the Gudhluka Reserve, why, it'd be just as well."

"He'll be all right directly, soon as he's let off a little more steam,"

said Sandgate, good-humouredly, with a glance of approval at d.i.c.k's spirited and well-groomed mount, which, in sheer enjoyment of the fresh freedom of the veldt, was tossing his head and blowing off clouds of vapour upon the cool night air.

That d.i.c.k Selmes had been able to join the two express-riders had involved some plotting; for, from the moment he had heard of their errand, incidentally through Inspector Chambers, to whose troop they belonged, he had firmly made up his mind that join them he would. But, on putting this to the Inspector, that worthy had promptly vetoed the whole business--subsequently compromising, however, by suggesting that the matter be submitted to the Commandant.

The latter, however, a fine old frontiersman born and bred, took a different view. He was a reserved, undemonstrative man, but had taken a liking to this dare-devil youngster by reason of his pluck and adaptability.

"I don't really see why he shouldn't go if he's keen on it, Chambers,"

he said. "The experience will do the young dog no harm, and he seems able to take care of himself. Greenoak keeps him too much in leading-strings. Oh, _that_," as the Inspector, with a dry laugh, recalled a certain adventure in Vunisa's location which would have cost our friend his life but for the shrewdness and prompt.i.tude of Harley Greenoak. "Well, yes. But, on the whole, Sandgate and Stokes are thoroughly reliable men, and will keep him in order. Of course, I need know nothing about it officially, nor need you; but if he should find his chance of slipping away after them, why, after all, he's only our guest here, and can come and go as he chooses," concluded the Commandant, with a twinkle in his eyes.

Harley Greenoak was away upon a critical and delicate mission which he had undertaken as a personal favour to the Commandant. As things were at present, he argued, his charge could come to no harm, at any rate for a day or two, by which time he himself would be back. All of which accounted for the comparative facility wherewith d.i.c.k had slipped away-- a facility which struck our two express-riders as strange.

Something of a friends.h.i.+p had grown up between d.i.c.k Selmes and Corporal Sandgate. They were of the same age, had the same tastes, and, hailing from adjacent neighbourhoods in the Old Country, had acquaintance in common. On such they chatted in subdued tones, as they held on their way rapidly through the calm beauty of the African night. So far the said way was easy, as under the unerring guidance of Trooper Stokes they crossed each rolling upland, mimosa-dotted and gra.s.sy. Here and there, far-away, the mysterious dimness was relieved by the red glow of a gra.s.s fire, or might it be the weird signal of plotting savages? Soon, however, the ground became more rugged. They forded a small river, rippling deep down in a thickly bushed valley, and the steeds drank gratefully of its cool, if slightly brackish, water. Then on again.

"We must swing back again here," said Stokes, as they drew rein on top of a ridge to loosen the girths and give the horses a quarter of an hour's rest and feed. "There are kraals in front of us. I can smell 'em."

"The deuce you can?" said d.i.c.k, vividly interested. "I can't. You're not getting at us, old chap, are you?"

To this Stokes vouchsafed no reply. He stroked his thick, wiry beard, looking unutterable contempt.

They resumed their way, sometimes making a considerable _detour_ to avoid suspicious neighbourhood. Once the barking of dogs, alarmingly near, caused a thrill of anxious excitement. Had the tramp of their horse-hoofs been heard? they wondered, as they swerved off as noiselessly as possible. At last, what looked like a building loomed in front of them. Just behind it were three or four native huts.

"I thought so," exclaimed Stokes. "Blamed if this isn't old Shelbury's store. We've come a _leetle_ more out of our road than we need have done, Sandgate."

"We'll make it up. I say, hadn't we better off-saddle and have some grub?" suggested d.i.c.k Selmes, cheerfully.