The Triumph of Hilary Blachland Page 28

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  A SUBLIME LIE.

  "Trooper Skelsey missing, sir."

  Such the terse report. The patrol had continued its retreat the nightthrough, taking advantage of the known aversion of the Matabele--incommon, by the way, with pretty nearly all other savages--to fighting inthe dark. Now it was just daybreak, and the muster had been called--with the above result.

  Where had he last been seen? Nobody knew exactly. He had formed one ofthe party left as a rear-guard. Sybrandt had, however, exchanged a fewwords with him since they had all rejoined the patrol. Some declaredthey had seen him since, but, as to time a general mistiness prevailed.

  "Well, I can't send back for him," pronounced the commanding officercurtly. "He must take his chance. I'm not going to risk other men'slives for the sake of one, and seriously weaken the patrol into thebargain."

  "If you don't mind, Major," said Blachland, who was standing by, "I'llride a mile or two back. I believe I can pick him up, and I've got thebest horse of the few left us."

  "Guess you'll need him," interjected the American scout.

  "Well, I can't give you any men, Blachland," said the Major. "No, notone single man. You go at your own risk."

  "I'll take that. I've been into tighter corners before."

  Here several men volunteered, including Percival West. These werecurtly dismissed.

  "I don't want you, Percy," said Blachland. "In fact I wouldn't have youat any price--excuse my saying so." And there was a laugh, in the midstof which the young fellow gave way to the inevitable.

  But there was another man who proved less amenable, and that was JustinSpence.

  "Do let me go, sir," he said, stepping forward. "Skelsey and Iprospected together once."

  There was a momentary awkwardness, for all knew that since they had beenin the field together the missing man had refused to exchange a wordwith his former chum and partner, whom he declared, had behaved like anutter cad. In short Skelsey had proved more implacable than the manpresumably most injured.

  "No. Return to your duty at once."

  "I'll blow my brains out then, and you'll lose one more man at anyrate."

  "Place Corporal Spence under arrest immediately," said the Majorsternly.

  "Don't be a fool, Spence," said Blachland kindly. "You'd be morehindrance than help to me really--and so would any one except Sybrandt,but we can't take two scouts away at once."

  The commanding officer thought so too, and was in a correspondingly badhumour. But Blachland was far too valuable a man to gainsay in a matterof this kind, besides, he had a knack of getting his way. Now havinggot it, he lost no time in preparations or farewells. He simplystarted.

  "His contract's too big," said the American, presently. "Guess we'venearly seen the last of him."

  "He'll come through, you'll see," rejoined Sybrandt, confidently.

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  The while Blachland was riding along the backward track: not quite onit, but rather above, where possible; scanning every point withlynx-eyed vigilance. Once a glimpse of something lying across the trackcaused his pulses to beat quicker. Cautiously he rode down to it. Onlyan old sack dropped during the march. The spoor of the patrol was plainenough, but he remembered that the missing man suffered from fever, andhad been slightly wounded during the earlier stages of the campaign.The possibilities were all that he had been overtaken with suddenfaintness and had collapsed, unperceived by the rest--in which case alonely and desolate end here in the wilds, even if the more mercifulassegai of the savage did not cut short his lingerings. And he himselfhad been too near such an end, deserted and alone, not to know thehorror of it.

  No blame whatever was due to the commanding officer in refusing to sendback--indeed he was perfectly right in so doing. The rules of war, likethose of life, are stern and pitiless. For many days the patrol hadfought its way through swarming enemies, and in all probability, wouldhave to again. Weakened in strength, in supplies, and at this stage,with ammunition none too plentiful, its leaders could not afford toweaken it still further, and delay its advance, and risk anotherconflict, with the ultimate chance of possible massacre, for the sake ofone man. That much was certain. And he, Hilary Blachland, who at onetime would have endorsed the hard necessity without a qualm, hardened,ruthless, inexorable, why should he run such grave and deadly risk forthe sake of one man who was only an acquaintance after all--yet here hewas doing so as a matter of course. What had changed him? He knew.

  And the risk was great--deadly indeed. The savages had hung upon therear of the patrol right up to the fall of night, and the subsequentretreat. The bush was full of them, and in unknown numbers. It was tohim a marvel and a mystery that he had as yet sighted none. Other sign,too, did not escape his practised understanding. There was no gameabout, none whatever--and even the birds flitting from spray to spraywere abnormally shy and wild. Now he could locate, some way ahead ofhim, the scene of yesterday's fight.

  Then an idea struck him. What if the missing man, confused by thespoor, had made for the river bank, intending to follow it? Deflectingto his right he crossed the track, and rode along it on the fartheredge, minutely examining the ground.

  Ha! Just as he thought. Footmarks--the imprint of boots--very ragged,half soleless boots--the footprints of one man. These turned out of thespoor, and slightly at right angles took the direction of the riverbank. There was no difficulty whatever in following them. In the deep,soft ground, rendered almost boggy in parts by the recent and continuousrains, their imprint was as the face of an open book. Blachland's heartrose exceedingly. He would soon find the wanderer, mount him behind himon his horse and bring him back safely.

  Then another thought struck him. Skelsey was no raw Britisher. He wasa Natal man, and had been up-country, prospecting, for the last two orthree years. Why the deuce then should he be unable to follow a plainbroad spoor, for this seemed the only way of accounting for hisdeflection? Well, he would very soon overtake him now, so it didn'tmatter.

  Didn't it? What was this? And Blachland, pulling in his horse, satthere in his saddle, his face feeling cold and white under its warmbronze. For now there were other footmarks and many of them. And thesewere the marks of naked feet.

  They seemed to have clustered together in a confused pattern, all aroundthe first spoor. It was as plain as the title page of a book. They hadstruck the two foot marks here and had halted to consult. Then they hadgone on again--not along the first spoor, but diagonally from it.

  He himself adopted the same course, taking the other side of the singlespoor. In this way if the missing man were travelling straight he wouldreach him first--would reach him and bear him off before the destroyersnow pursuing him like hounds should run into him. But it would be anear thing.

  The dull hoarse roar of the swollen river sounded close in front.Louder and louder it grew. The missing man could not be far ahead now.Rising in his stirrups he gazed anxiously around. No sign. He darednot shout. The band of Matabele who were in pursuit of Skelsey couldnot be far distant on his left. He was almost on the river bank, andstill no sign of the fugitive. Well, the roar of the water wouldprevent his voice from reaching far--anyhow he would risk it.

  "Skelsey! Where are you?" he called, but not loudly. "Skelsey!"

  He listened intently. Was that an answer? Something between a cry anda groan--and--it was behind him.

  He turned his horse, and as he did so, the thought occurred to him thathe might be walking into a trap--that the savages might already havebutchered his comrade, and be lying in wait to take him with the leasttrouble and risk to themselves. Well, he must chance it, and thechances were about even.

  "Skelsey! Where are you, old chap?" he called again in a low tone.

  This time an answer came, but faintly.

  "Here."

  Lying under a bush was the missing man. He raised his head feebly, andgazed
with lack-lustre eyes at his would-be rescuer.

  "Get up behind me, quick!" said the latter.

  "Can't. I've sprained my ankle. Can't stand. I was going to crawl tothe river and end it all."

  "Well, you've got to ride instead. Come, I'll give you a hand. Quick,man! There are a lot of Matabele after you, I struck their spoors."

  The while he had been helping the other to rise. Skelsey groaned andground his teeth with the pain. He was exhausted too, with starvation.

  "Can't help it. You must pull yourself together," said Blachland,hoisting him into the saddle and himself mounting behind. "Now sticktight on for all you know how, for we've got to run for it."

  "Ping-ping!" A bullet hummed overhead, then another. The horse snortedand plunged forward, nearly falling. The ground was rough, thecondition of the animal indifferent, and the double burden considerablytoo much for his strength. There followed another crash or two ofrifles from behind, then no more. The savages reckoned their preysecure. They could easily distance a lean horse, badly overloaded, onsuch ground as this, without further expenditure of ammunition. Nowthey streamed forward through the bush to overtake and butcher the twofugitives.

  Of the above Blachland was as fully aware as the pursuers themselves.There was no safety for two, not a ghost of a chance of it. For onethere was a chance, and it fairly good. Which was that one to be?

  "_Jji--Jji!--Jji--jji_!" The hideous battle-hiss vibrated upon the airin deep-toned stridency. A glance over his shoulder. He could see theforemost of the savages ranging up nearer and nearer, assegais grippedready to run in and stab. Which was that one to be?

  In the flash of that awful moment a vision of Lyn rose before him--Lyn,in her fair, sweet, golden-haired beauty. Was he never to see heragain? Why not? A loosening of his hold of the man in the saddle infront of him, a slight push, and he himself was almost certainly safe.No human eye would witness the deed, least of all would it ever besuspected. On the contrary, all would bear witness how he had riddenback into grave peril to try and rescue a missing comrade, and Lyn wouldapprove--and even a happiness he had hardly as yet dared dream of mightstill be his. And--it should.

  "Can you stick on if I don't have to hold you, Skelsey?"

  "Yes. I think so. I'm sure I can."

  "Well, then, stick on for God's sake, and go," was the quick eagerrejoinder. "I'm hit in two places--mortally. I'm dead already, but youneedn't be. Good-bye."

  He slid to the ground. The horse, relieved of its double burden, shotforward, its pace accelerated by a stone, lightly hurled by its lateowner, which struck it on the hindquarters. A glance convinced him thathis comrade was now in comparative safely, and Hilary Blachland turnedto await the onrushing mass of his ruthless foes--single-handed, alone,and--as yet, absolutely unhurt. His temptation had been sharp,searching and fiery. But his triumph was complete.