A Dash from Diamond City Part 18

"Why, it's enough to make a cat laugh. Well, I wish you better luck,"

said Anson, "and if you do catch up to Oliver West I hope you'll slip the handcuffs on him at once and make him part with his smuggled swag."

"You may trust me for that," said the superintendent grimly.

"I shall," said Anson, smiling broadly. "Glad you came after me, so that I could put you on the right track."

"So am I," said the police officer, with a peculiar look.

"And I'm sorry I cut up so rough," continued Anson, smiling, as he apologised; "but you know, it isn't nice to be stopped and overhauled as I have been."

"Of course it isn't," said the officer drily; "but in my profession one can't afford to study people's feelings."

"No, no, of course not. But don't apologise."

"I was not going to," said the superintendent; "I'm sorry, though, to find out that West is such a scamp. Why, Ingleborough must be as bad."

"Or worse," said Anson, grinning.

"Yes, because he's older. Why, I quite trusted that fellow."

"Ah, you're not the first man who has been deceived, sir."

"Of course not; but by the way, Mr Anson, why didn't you say something of this kind in your defence when Ingleborough charged you before the directors?"

"Why didn't I say something about it? Why, because I didn't know. It only came to me too late. But there, you know now; and, as I said before, I wish you luck and a good haul, only unfortunately they've got a good start and you'll have your work cut out. Going? Goodbye then."

"Goodbye?" said the superintendent, using the word as a question.

"Yes, of course. I'm going to chance it. I don't suppose we shall meet any Boers."

"No; I don't think you'll meet any Boers," said the officer, in so meaning a way that Anson grew uneasy.

"Why do you speak like that?" he said sharply.

"Only that it isn't goodbye, Mr Anson."

"Not goodbye? Yes, it is. I'm off to the south at once."

"No, sir; you're going north with me. You area suspected person, Mr Anson. I am not altogether satisfied with my search, nor yet with your very ingenious story."

"Then search again?" cried Anson excitedly.

"Not here, sir. I'll have a careful look over the wagon when we get back to Kimberley."

"You don't mean to say you are going to drag me back to Kimberley?"

"I do, sir, and you ought to be thankful, for you'd never pa.s.s through the Boers' lines further south."

"But you have thoroughly searched me and my wagon."

"I have told you that I am not satisfied," said the officer coldly; "and, even if I were, I should take you back with me all the same."

"Why? What for?"

"To face this Mr West and his companion if we capture them and bring them back."

"But what's that to me?"

"Only this: you are the informer, and will have to give evidence against them when they are examined. Now, please, no more words, Mr Anson; you are my prisoner. Quick, boys! Get the team in-spanned and the wagon turned the other way."

"But breakfast," said Anson, with a groan. "I must have something to eat."

"The billy is boiling," said the sergeant to his chief, in a confidential tone, "and the bullocks would be all the better for an hour's feed, sir."

The superintendent looked sharply towards the fire and the prisoner's provisions, and shaded his eyes and gazed for some minutes south.

"You're right," he said. "Send two men off a good mile forward as outposts, and let the oxen feed.--Now, Mr Anson, I'll take breakfast with you if you'll have me for a guest."

"Yes; I can't help myself," said the prisoner bitterly; "and suppose I shan't have a chance given me to make your tea agreeable with something I have in the wagon."

"No; I don't think you will, sir, thanks."

"But I can sit and wish you luck, my friend, and my wish is this--that a commando may swoop down upon you and your gang."

"Thanks once more," said the superintendent grimly. "There, sit down, sir, and I'll preside and send you your breakfast."

This was done, the repast made, and, as soon as two of the constables had finished, they were sent off to relieve their rear-guard, sending them on to have their meal, and with orders to fall back towards the wagon a quarter of an hour after the relief had been made.

All this was duly carried out, the oxen in-spanned, and the wagon began its lumbering course back towards Kimberley, the black driver and voorlooper taking their places in the most unconcerned way, as if it were all in the day's work, while Anson, after eating voraciously, had a fit of the sulks, watching narrowly the movements of the police. After a moment's indecision he climbed upon the box in the front of the wagon and in doing so glanced at his rifle, which hung in its slings close to his head.

"Six of them," he said to himself, as he smiled pleasantly. "I could bring down the chief and one more easily; but that wouldn't scare the rest away. Odds are too heavy, and one don't want to be taken and hanged. They are so particular about a policeman being hurt! Never mind; I daresay my luck will turn--fool as I was to try that dodge on about those two going off with the smuggled loot. I'll wait. Here goes to whistle for the Boers, as the sailors do for wind."

Saying this, he drew out the little mahogany case which held his flute, and coolly took the pieces and fitted them together, before crossing his legs upon the rough seat and beginning to blow, keeping up a series of the most doleful old Scotch and Irish laments, while the oxen plodded on and the police rode by the wagon side, listening and looking in vain for any sign tending to point out the fact that the flautist was a dishonest dealer in the coveted crystals which were so hard to get, but all the same keeping a keen look-out for danger in the shape of advancing Boers.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

IN THE THICK OF IT.

The report of the rifle was magical in its effect upon the Basuto ponies, each rearing up on its hind legs and striking out with its forefeet; but the same punishment was meted out by the riders--namely, a sharp tap between the ears with the barrels of the rifles--and the result was that beyond fidgeting they stood fairly still, while _flash, flash, flash_, three more shots were fired. The bullets whizzed by with their peculiar noise, sounding quite close, but probably nowhere near the riders--those who fired judging in the darkness quite by sound.

"Let's keep on at a walk," whispered West; but, low as his utterance was, the sound reached an enemy's ears.

"Mind what you're about!" said someone close at hand, evidently mistaking the speaker for a friend; "one of those bullets went pretty close to my ear. Whereabouts are they?"

"Away to the right," whispered Ingleborough, in Dutch.