CHAPTER XVIII

THE AMBUSH

"WHAT'S doin', old son?" inquired Tiny, a few days after the visitation of the plague of locusts.

It was a slack time. Colonel Narfield was down with one of his periodical attacks of malaria, and work, both in the laboratory and in the open air, was at a standstill. It was at the Colonel's suggestion that the two lads took a holiday.

"Let's ride over to Kana Kloof," suggested Colin. "There's bound to be some springbok about."

"Right-o," agreed his chum. "You see to the grub, and I'll saddle the horses. Tell Colonel Narfield where we're going."

Within a quarter of an hour the two chums were ready. Each was mounted on a small, wiry, and thoroughly "salted" horse, and carried a .303 sporting rifle and twenty-five cartridges.

As they rode towards the gate of the compound they encountered Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly.

"Want me, Massa Demon?" inquired the latter.

"No, thanks, Bluebottle," replied Tiny, laughing.

Sinclair also declined an offer on the part of Tenpenny Nail to accompany him. The two Haussas grinned.

"'Spects they want to push off on their own," observed Tiny. "They both looked mighty pleased with themselves when we told them they weren't required."

As a matter of fact, it was exactly the reverse. Both the Haussas wanted to go, and felt slighted at their respective masters' refusal. But since they were almost invariably grinning, it was not to be wondered at that Desmond had come to the conclusion that the Haussas were anxious to remain.

It was about twelve miles to Kana Kloof, where a "drift" or ford crosses a tributary of the Rubera River. The Kana, almost dry in the hot season and in a foaming torrent in the rainy season, flowed between steep, rocky banks, pierced here and there by gorges that enable people to cross without having to clamber down and climb the cliffs.

All the way there was not a single springbok or wilde-beeste sighted. There was spoor in plenty, but the swift-footed animals were nowhere to be seen, although the chums were going into the wind.

It was disappointing, especially as on a previous occasion, when Colonel Narfield was with them, the lads had sighted several and had succeeded in shooting a fine specimen of a gnu.

"Putrid, I call it!" exclaimed Tiny disgustedly, when, upon arriving at the Kloof, they dismounted and watered their horses. "Not a chance of even a single shot."

"This is all right!" said Colin, unbuckling his gaiters and taking off his boots. "I'm going to wade a bit. The bottom of the river's hard rock, and there are no crocodiles or hippos about. There are plenty of fish, though. Wish I'd brought a rod and line."

"Not much good bringing a rifle," said Tiny, who was still harping on the lack of sport. "Carrying unnecessary weight, that's what it is."

"Perhaps," suggested Colin, "there are lions about, and that's what has frightened the springbok. Of course, we wouldn't see them during the day. They'd be lurking in the scrub."

"We haven't seen the spoor of a lion, anyway," objected Desmond. "There must be some other reason."

They left it at that.

An hour later, after having a swim in a deep, clear pool and having had something to eat and drink, they prepared for the return journey.

"I believe there's a thunderstorm working up," remarked Colin, after about half the distance had been ridden. "Let's hurry a bit. It is no joke being caught out in the open in one of these storms."

But, unaccountably, both horses refused to increase their pace. It was not because they had been pressed. Throughout the ride the lads had ridden at quite a moderate pace, which was a mere crawl for the hardy little animals.

In fact, instead of responding to the gentle application of the spur, the animals stopped dead, refusing to move.

"What's wrong with the brutes?" inquired Tiny. "They've never jibbed at anything before."

"P'raps there's a lion in that patch of long grass," suggested Colin. "Since the horses won't go past the clump they'll jolly well have to go round it. Now, then, Brimstone."

The animals turned none too readily. For a few seconds Treacle, Tiny's mount, refused to budge. Then, seeing that the other horse was trotting ahead, Treacle broke into a mad gallop.

For a few yards Desmond gave him his head, glad to be able to get the animal to move at all. Then, finding he was greatly outpacing his chum, he managed to check Treacle's mad gallop.

By this time he had made a wide detour and was almost past the clump of tall reeds. Colin, making an easier curve, was about fifty yards behind and about twenty from the outside edge of the clump.

Suddenly Brimstone reared, nearly throwing his rider. Simultaneously something glittering in the sun flashed in front of Colin's eyes, and, sinking deeply into the ground a dozen yards away, quivered violently.

It was an assegai, one of the throwing variety. Two more followed in quick succession, one literally shaving Colin's bridle, and the other wounding the horse in the flank.

The next instant a dozen or more natives emerged from the reeds and sprang towards the astonished Colin.

They were Sibenga's warriors, naked, save for the leopard skin worn round their waists and their feathered rings on their arms and ankles. Every one had a head-ring of hard gum and tufts of ostrich feathers surmounting their close, crisp hair. One fellow, evidently the captain of the party, wore a kaross, or cloak of leopard skin. All carried ox-hide shields, kerries, and stabbing spears, besides a sheaf of throwing assegais. Maddened by the slight wound that he had received, Brimstone dashed madly forward, his rider unable to control his movements. While Tiny was endeavouring to check his horse, Colin was eager to increase the pace of his.

For an instant the natives hesitated as the maddened horse leapt forward. That instant saved Colin from being dragged from the saddle and assegaied. Even as it was, two more spears grazed his shoulders, and a knobkerrie whizzed perilously past his ear.

"Ride on for all you're worth!" shouted Colin, as he saw Desmond was reining in and unslinging his rifle. "I'm all right."

"Are you?" called Tiny in reply. "Look ahead!"

The chums were now a good hundred yards beyond the ambush, but the warriors were running swiftly in pursuit. Sinclair knew that they hadn't the slightest chance of outpacing two fairly swift horses, so why did they persist in following?

The answer was soon apparent. Desmond knew it already, for at less than a quarter of a mile ahead and stretching out in a far-flung semi-circle, were at least a hundred of Sibenga's warriors, and with them the chief himself, accompanied by the witch doctor in full regalia.

Both lads realised that they were in a desperately tight corner. Something had to be done, and that quickly. To remain where they were meant death under the keen blades of the assegais; to get away meant dashing through the cordon of armed warriors.

With the exception of their rifles, Colin and Desmond were unarmed, and a sporting magazine rifle is an awkward weapon to use while mounted. But it was infinitely better than nothing at all. Holding their rifles by the small of the butt and opening the cut-out of the magazine, the trapped chums set spurs to their horses and dashed forward to where it seemed the line was most lightly held.

Nobly Brimstone and Treacle responded to the call. It was touch-and-go. Already Sibenga's warriors, guessing the desperate white men's plan, began to bunch together to intercept them.

Holding the reins lightly with their left, and keeping their rifles obliquely across the pommel of the saddle, Colin and Desmond tore towards the bronzed line of natives. A few throwing spears flew towards them. Shields were brandished in the hope that the commotion would scare the horses.

Then both rifles spoke. It was impossible to take aim, but the moral effect told. In an instant the lads were dashing between the warriors. Colin had a momentary vision of bringing the brass-bound butt of his rifle violently against the face of a ferocious-looking fellow and feeling the latter's throwing-spear graze his ribs.

Desmond, firing with the muzzle of his rifle almost touching a broad-shouldered warrior, had only just time to raise the still-smoking weapon to guard a blow from a kerrie aimed by the man even as the bullet struck him fairly in the chest.

"We're through!" exclaimed Colin aloud, though speaking to himself; but the next instant Brimstone faltered, staggered a few yards, and then collapsed, throwing his rider at full length upon the sun-baked ground.