The Curse of Carne's Hold: A Tale of Adventure

IN THE AMATOLAS.

The corporal had already spread the news among the men of Ronald's intended enterprise, and they gave him a hearty cheer as he rode off. Mr. Nolan had advised him to keep the native who was going to fetch his horse back.

"You won't want to walk into King Williamstown in that guise," he said; "therefore you had best put your uniform into the valise, and tell the man to meet you at any point you like—I should say the nearer to the bush the better; for if you succeed in getting the young lady out of these rascals' clutches you may be pursued, and, if your horse is handy, may succeed in getting her away, when you would otherwise be soon overtaken."

Ronald thankfully accepted the suggestion, for he saw that it might indeed be of vital importance to him to have his horse ready at hand.

With a last wave of his hand he rode off, the chief and his six companions trotting alongside.

The sun had set an hour when they reached the spot at which the chief had directed his two followers to meet him. They had not yet arrived.

"Do you think they will be sure to be able to find the place?" Ronald asked the chief.

"A Fingo never loses his way," the chief replied. "Find his way in dark, all same as day."

In spite of the chief's assurance, Ronald was fidgety and anxious. He wrapped a blanket round him, and walked restlessly up and down. It was nearly an hour before the chief, who, with his companions, had thrown himself down and lighted a pipe, which passed from hand to hand, said suddenly:

"One man come!"

Ronald listened intently, but could hear nothing. A moment later a dark figure came up.

Kreta at once questioned him, and a long conversation took place between them.

"What is he saying, chief? What is he saying?" Ronald broke in impatiently several times; but it was not until the man had finished that the chief translated.

"White girl alive, incos, the other two women alive, but not live long, torture them bad. Going to take girl to Macomo."

"Thank God for that," Ronald exclaimed, fervently, for he had all day been tormented with the fear that Mary Armstrong might have met with her fate directly she was carried away.

"Where are they going to take her?"

"A lot of them go off to-night; go straight to Amatolas; take her with them."

"How many, Kreta; will there be any chance of attacking them on the way?"

The chief asked a question of his messenger.

"Heaps of them," he said to Ronald, for the natives are incapable of counting beyond very low figures. "Too many; no chance to attack them; must follow behind. They show us the way."

"But how do we know whereabouts they will come out of the wood, Kreta? It's miles long; while we are watching at one place, they may be off in another."

"That's so, incos; no use to watch the wood. We must go on to the Great Fish River. Only two places where they can ford it—Double Drift and Cornetjies Drift, one hour's walk apart. Put half one place, half the other; then when they pass, follow after and send messengers to fetch up others."

"That will do very well, chief; that's a capital idea of yours. You are sure that there's no other way they can go?"

"Heaps of ways," the chief said, "but those shortest ways—sure to go short ways, so as to pass over ground quickly."

"What are they going back for?"

"No bullock in bush, incos, eaten up all the things round, want to go home to kraals; besides hear that many white soldiers come over sea to go to Amatolas to fight."

"How far is it to these fords?"

"Three hours' march. We start now. Kaffirs set out soon. Get on horse again."

Ronald was not sorry to do so, for he felt that in the dark he should run a considerable risk of laming himself against stones or stumps, and in any case he would scratch himself very severely with the thorns.

"Tell me, chief," he said, when they had started, "how did your messenger learn this, and what has become of your other man?"

"Not know about other man," the chief said. "Perhaps they caught him and killed him; perhaps he is hiding among them and dare not venture out. This man tell he go into forest and creep and crawl for a long time, then at last he saw some Kaffirs come along; he followed them, and at last they came to place in the bush where there was a heap of their fellows. They were all gathered round something, and he heard women crying very loud. Presently some of the men went away and he could see what it was—two white women tied to trees. The Kaffirs had stripped them and cut their flesh in many places. They die very soon, perhaps to-night or to-morrow morning. Then he crawl up and lay in the bushes, very close, and listen to talk. He heard that to-night heap party go away to Amatolas and take white woman as present for Macomo; then other Kaffirs come and lie down all about, and he did not dare move out till the light go away. Then he crawl through the bushes a good piece; then he got up and ran to bring the news."

"He has done very well," Ronald said; "tell him he shall be well rewarded. Now I think he might as well go to the camp and tell the officer there from me that two of the white women have been killed; but that the other has been taken away, as I hoped she would be, and that I am going after her."

"Message no use," the chief said, after a moment's thought; "better take him with us, may be useful by-and-by; may want to send to settlement."

"Perhaps it would be as well," Ronald agreed; "and the message is of no real importance."

After three hours' fast travelling—the natives going at a run, in spite of the darkness of the night, and Ronald leaving the reins loose, and trusting to his horse to feel his way—they came to the river; after making a narrow examination of the bank, the chief pronounced the ford to be a quarter of a mile lower down, and in a few minutes they came upon the spot where a road crossed the river.

"I think this way they are most likely to take," the chief said, when they had crossed the stream. "Country more broken this way, and further from towns, not so much chance of meeting soldiers. You and I and four men will stay here; three men go on to other ford, then if they cross there, send one man to tell us; the other two follow them, and see which way they go."

"Do you know the Amatolas at all, chief?"

"Not know him, incos; never been there; travel all about these parts in last war, but never go up to Amatolas."

"Then, of course, you do not know at all where Macomo's kraal is?"

"Not know him at all. We follow men, sure enough we get there."

The three men had not started above five minutes, when the chief said in a low tone:

"They are coming," and gave an order to one of his men, who at once set off at the top of his speed to overtake the others and bring them back.

It was nearly ten minutes before Ronald could hear the slightest sound, then he became conscious of a low murmur of voices in the air, and a minute or two later there was a splashing of water at the ford, fifty yards from the spot where they had lain down under a bush. One of the natives had, at Kreta's orders, taken the horse away, the chief telling him to go half a mile off, as were it to paw the ground suddenly, or make any noise, the attention of the Kaffirs, if within hearing, would be instantly drawn to it.

Dark as the night was, the figures of those crossing the water could be dimly made out, and Ronald judged there must be fully three hundred of them. After the first few had passed they came along in such a close body that he was unable to make out whether there was a female among them. The numbers of the Kaffirs sufficed to show him there was no chance whatever of effecting a rescue of Mary Armstrong while surrounded by so large a body.

As soon as all had crossed, two of the Fingoes followed close upon their traces, five minutes afterwards another started, and scarcely had he gone when the three men who had been sent to the other ford returned with the messenger who had recalled them. They left at short intervals after each other, and then Ronald mounted his horse, which had now been fetched up, and followed with Kreta.

"There is no fear of our missing them, chief?"

"No fear of that, incos; that star over there shines over the Amatolas, they go straight for it; besides, the two men behind them can hear them talking. If they turn off one come back to tell us."

But they did not turn off, but kept on for hours in a straight undeviating line, travelling at a fast walk. Roland Mervyn kept wondering how Mary Armstrong was bearing up. She was a strong active girl, accustomed to plenty of exercise, and at ordinary times could doubtless have walked a long distance; but the events of the day, the sudden attack upon the waggons, her capture by the Kaffirs, her uncertainty as to the fate of her father, the harrowing tortures of her companions, which she had probably been compelled to witness, and the hopelessness of her own fate, might well have broken her down. He was sure that the Kaffirs would compel her to walk as long as she could drag her limbs along, but as she was destined as a present to their chief, they might, when she could go no further, carry her.

He groaned at his helplessness to aid her, and had he not had a perfect faith in the cunning of his companions, and in their ability to follow her up wherever she was taken, he would have been inclined to take the mad step of charging right in among the Kaffirs, upon the one chance of snatching her up and carrying her off from among them.

Roland Mervyn, of the Cape Rifles, was a very different man from Captain Mervyn, of the Borderers. The terrible event that had caused him to throw up his commission and leave the country had in other respects been of great advantage. He had for years been haunted by the fear of madness, and whenever he felt low and out of spirits this fear of insanity had almost overpowered him. The trial had cured him of this; he had convinced himself that had he inherited the slightest taint of the curse of the Carnes, he would have gone mad while he was awaiting his trial; that he had kept his head perfect under such circumstances seemed to him an absolute proof that he was as sane as other men, and henceforth he banished the fear that had so long haunted him.

It was in truth that fear which had held him back so long from entering into a formal engagement with his cousin Margaret. He looked upon it as an absolutely settled thing that they would be married some day, but had almost unconsciously shrunk from making that day a definite one; and although for the moment he had burst into a fit of wild anger at being as he considered thrown aside, he had since acknowledged to himself that Margaret's decision had been a wise one, and that it was better that they two should not have wedded.

He had always been blessed with good spirits, except at the times when the fit of depression seized him; but since he had been at the Cape, and been on active duty, these had entirely passed away, and his unvarying good temper under all circumstances had often been the subject of remark among his comrades.

As he rode along that night he acknowledged, what he had never before admitted to himself, that he loved Mary Armstrong. The admission was a bitter rather than a pleasant one.

"I shall never marry now," he had said to his mother, at his last interview with her. "No wife or child of mine shall ever hear it whispered that her husband or father was a murderer. Unless this cloud is some day lifted—and how it can be, Heaven only knows—I must go through the world alone," and so he thought still. It might be that as Harry Blunt he might settle down in the Colony and never be recognised; but he would always have the fear that at any moment some officer he had known, some man of his regiment, some emigrant from his own county, might recognise him, and that the news would be passed round that Harry Blunt was the Captain Mervyn who escaped, only from want of legal proof, from being hung as the murderer of his cousin.

"I didn't think I was such a fool," he muttered to himself, "as to be caught by a pretty face. However, it will make no difference. She will never know it. If her father recovers, which is doubtful, she will go back with him to the old country. If not, she will go back alone, for without friends or relatives she cannot stay here, and she will never dream that the sergeant of the Cape Rifles, who had the luck twice to save her life—that is, if I do save it—was fool enough to fall in love with her."

An hour before morning one of the Fingoes came back from the front with the news that the Kaffirs had turned off into a kloof, and were going to halt there. The party soon collected, and retired to a clump of trees a mile back. One of them was ordered to act as sentry near the kloof, and bring back word at once should any movement take place. The rest of the party, upon reaching the shelter of the trees, threw themselves upon the ground, and were soon fast asleep; even Ronald, anxious as he was, remaining awake but a few minutes after the others.

The sun was high before they awoke. As they were eating their breakfast the sentry returned, and another was despatched to take his place. The man reported that he had seen nothing of the main body of Kaffirs, but that four of them were placed on the watch near the kloof. Kreta led Ronald to the edge of the wood, and pointing to a jagged range of hills in the distance said, "Amatolas."

"How far are they away, Kreta?"

"Six hours' fast walking," the chief said. "They get to foot of hills to-night. If Macomo's kraal anywhere this side, they may get there. If not, they wait and rest a bit, and then go on. No need travel fast when get to hills; they know very well no white soldier there."

"What had we better do, do you think?"

"They have plenty of men always on look-out, sure to be some on hills. I will send two men after these fellows, and they creep and crawl through the bushes, find out the way and bring news to me; then when they come back we will start."

"But we must be there in the evening," Ronald said; "we must be there, chief; do you hear?"

"Yes, incos, but it seems to me that it do no good to throw our lives away. If you say go, Kreta will go too, but if we killed, girl will be killed too, and no good that, that Kreta can see; if we go in daytime we killed, sure enough. Not possible to get into Amatolas without being seen; all grass and smooth land at foot of hill. On hill some places trees, there we manage very well; some open spaces, there they see us."

"I don't wish to throw our lives away, chief; if I wanted to throw my own away, I have no right to sacrifice yours and your men's; but scouts on the look out would surely take us at a distance for a party of their own men returning from some plundering expedition, probably as part of the party ahead, who had hung back for some purpose on the road."

"Great many kraals, great many people in Amatolas," the chief said; "sure to meet some one. They begin to ask questions, and see very soon we not Kaffirs, see directly you not Kaffir; might pass at night very well, but no pass in day. But perhaps we have time, incos. Chiefs wander about, hold council and meet each other; perhaps Macomo not at home, very likely he away when they get there."

"Pray God it may be so," Ronald said, despairingly. "It seems the only hope we have. Well, Kreta, I put myself in your hands. You know much more about it than I do. As you say, we shall do no good to Miss Armstrong by throwing away our lives, therefore, I put aside my own plans and trust to you."

"I no say we can save her, incos, but if we can we will. You make sure of that."

The next night took them to the foot of the hills, and when the Kaffirs halted, the chief ordered two of his men to make a circuit, climb the hill, and conceal themselves in the bush before morning broke, so that when the Kaffirs moved on they could at once follow them without having to cross in daylight the grassy slopes of the foot hills. Minute instructions were given to both to follow close behind the Kaffir party, the order being that if either of them could pounce upon a solitary native, he was to stun him with his knobkerry, and force him when he recovered to give information as to the distance, direction, and road to Macomo's kraal, and that he was then to be assegaid at once. Feeling that Ronald might not altogether approve of this last item, for he was aware that the white men had what he considered a silly objection to unnecessary bloodshed, Kreta, whilst telling Ronald the rest of the instructions he had given to the spies, did not think it necessary to detail this portion of them.

"Where shall we stay till morning?" Ronald inquired of him; "the country seems perfectly flat and unbroken, their look-out will see us a long way off."

"Yes, incos, we lie down in little bush behind there. We send horse back to first wood and tell man to bring him every night to bottom of the hill, or if he sees us from a distance coming down the hill with Kaffirs after us, to come to meet us. We lie down till morning. Then when they go on, we go on too, little time afterwards, as you said, and follow as far as first wood; look-out think we belong to big party; then we hide there till one of my men come back. I told them we should be somewhere in wood, and he is to make signals as he walks along. We will push on as far as we can, so that we don't come upon kraals."

"That will do very well indeed," Ronald said, "for every inch that we can get nearer to Macomo's kraal is so much gained."

He removed the pistols from his holsters, and fastened them to his belt, putting them so far back that they were completely hidden by the blanket he wore over his shoulders, and then went with the party some little distance back, and lay down till morning. Almost as soon as it was daybreak, the Fingo who was on the watch announced that the Kaffirs were moving, and the little party at once followed. The Kaffirs had disappeared among the woods, high up on the hill side, when they began to ascend the grassy slope. They had no doubt that they were observed by the Kaffir watchmen, but they proceeded boldly, feeling sure it would be supposed that they belonged to the party ahead of them.

The path through the forest was a narrow one, and they moved along in single file. One of the party went fifty yards ahead, walking cautiously, and listening intently for suspicious sounds; the rest proceeded noiselessly, prepared to bound into the forest directly the man ahead gave the signal that any one was approaching. For upwards of a mile they kept their way, the ground rising continually; then they reached a spot where a deep valley fell away at their feet. It divided into several branches, and wreaths of smoke could be seen curling up through the trees at a number of points. Similar indications of kraals could be seen everywhere upon the hill side, and Kreta shook his head and said:

"No can go further. Heaps of Kaffir all about. Must wait now."

Even Ronald, anxious as he was to go on, felt that it would be risking too much to proceed. The kraals were so numerous that as soon as they got into the valley they would be sure to run into one, and, moreover, the path would fork into many branches, and it would be impossible for them to say which of these the party ahead had taken.

They turned aside into the wood for some little distance and lay down, one being left on the watch in the bush close to the path. The hours passed slowly while they waited the return of one of the scouts, who had been ordered to follow close upon the footsteps of the Kaffirs to Macomo's kraal. It was three o'clock before the look-out by the path returned, accompanied by one of them.

He said a few words to the chief, and although Ronald could not understand him he saw by the expression of Kreta's face that the news was satisfactory.

"Girl got to Macomo's kraal," the chief said. "Macomo not there. Gone to Sandilli. May come back to-night. Most likely get drunk and not come back till to-morrow. Macomo drink very much."

"All the better," Ronald said. "Thank God we have got a few hours before us."

The man gave a narration of his proceedings to Kreta, who translated them to Ronald.

Directly the Kaffirs had passed the point where he and his comrade were hidden, they came out of the bush and followed closely behind them, sometimes dropping behind a little so as to be quite out of sight if any of them should look round, and then going on faster until they could get a glimpse of them, so as to be sure that they were going in the right direction. They had passed through several kraals. Before they came to each of these the men had waited a little, and had then gone on at a run, as if anxious to catch up the main body. They had thus avoided questioning.

Three hours' walking took them to Macomo's kraal, and they had hung about there until they found out that Macomo was away, having gone off early to pay a visit to Sandilli. Kreta did not translate his followers' description of the manner in which this information had been obtained, and Ronald, supposing they had gathered it from listening to the Kaffirs, asked no questions. As soon as they had learned what they wanted to know, one of them had remained in hiding near the village, and the other had returned with the news. He had been nearly twice as long coming back as he was going, as this time he had been obliged to make a circuit so as to pass round each of the kraals, and so to avoid being questioned.

"Did he see the young lady?" Ronald asked; "and how was she looking?"

Yes, he had seen her as they passed his ambush the first thing in the morning. She looked very white and tired, but she was walking. She was not bound in any way. That was all he could tell him.

"How soon can we go on, chief?" Ronald asked, impatiently. "You see, it is three hours' marching even if we go straight through."

"Can go now," the chief said. "Now we know where Macomo's kraal is we can go straight through the bush."

They went back to the path. The Fingo pointed to the exact position among the hills where Macomo's kraal was. There were two intermediate ridges to be crossed, but Ronald did not doubt the Fingo's power to follow a nearly direct line to the spot.

"Now," the chief said, "you follow close behind me. Keep your eyes always on ground. Do not look at trees or rocks, or anything, but tread in my footsteps. Remember if you tread on a twig, or make the least sound, perhaps some one notice it. We may be noticed anyhow. Fellows upon the watch may see us moving through the trees overhead, but must risk that; but only don't make noise."

Ronald promised to obey the chief's instructions, and the party, again leaving the path, took their way through the trees straight down into the valley. At times they came to such precipitous places that they were forced to make detours to get down them. One of the men now went ahead, the rest following at such a distance that they could just keep him in sight through the trees. From time to time he changed his course, as he heard noises or the sound of voices that told him he was approaching a kraal. At times they came across patches of open ground. When it was impossible to avoid these they made no attempt to cross them rapidly, as they knew that the sharp eyes of the sentries on the hill top could look down upon them. They, therefore, walked at a quiet pace, talking and gesticulating to each other as they went, so that they might be taken for a party going from one kraal to another.

It was eight o'clock in the evening, and the sun had set some time, when they approached the kraal of Macomo.

It was a good-sized village, and differed little from the ordinary Kaffir kraals except that two or three of the huts were large and beehive-shaped. There was a good deal of noise going on in the village; great fires were burning, and round these numbers of the Kaffirs were dancing, representing by their action the conflict in which they had been engaged, and the slaughter of their enemies. The women were standing round, keeping up a monotonous song, to the rhythm of which the men were dancing.

As they approached within a hundred yards of the edge of the clearing round the village, a sharp hiss was heard among the bushes. Kreta at once left the path, the others following him. They were at once joined by the other scouts.

"What is the news?"

"The white woman is still in the woman's hut next to that of Macomo."

"Are there any guards at the door?" Ronald asked. The chief put the question.

"No, no guards have been placed there. There are many women in the hut. There was no fear of her escape. Besides, if she got out, where could she go to?"

"Well, now, incos, what are we to do?" the chief asked. "We have brought you here, and now we are ready to die if you tell us. What you think we do next?"

"Wait a bit, Kreta, I must think it over."

Indeed, Ronald had been thinking all day. He had considered it probable that Mary Armstrong would be placed in the hut of one of the chief's wives. The first question was how to communicate with her. It was almost certain that either some of the women would sit up all night, or that sentries would be placed at the door. Probably the former. The Kaffirs had made a long journey, and had now doubtless been gorging themselves with meat. They would be disinclined to watch, and would consider their responsibility at an end when they had handed her over to the women. It was almost certain that Mary herself would be asleep after her fatigue of the last three days; even the prospect of the terrible fate before her would scarce suffice to keep her awake.

"Do you think two women will sit up with her all night?"

"Two or three of them, sure," Kreta replied.

"My plan is this, Kreta; it may not succeed, but I can think of no other. In the first place, I will go into the kraal. I will wait until there is no one near the door, then I will stoop and say in a loud voice, so that she may hear, that she is to keep awake at night. Macomo's women are none of them likely to understand English, and before they run out to see what it is, I shall be gone. If they tell the men they have heard a strange voice speaking unknown words, they will be laughed at, or at most a search will be made through the kraal, and of course nothing will be found. Then, to-night, chief, when everything is still, I propose that three of you shall crawl with me into the kraal. When we get to the door of the hut, you will draw aside the hide that will be hanging over it and peep in. If only two women are sitting by the fire in the centre, two of you will crawl in as noiselessly as possible. I know that you can crawl so that the sharpest ear cannot hear you. Of course, if there are three, three of you will go in; if two, two only. You will crawl up behind the women, suddenly seize them by the throat and gag and bind them. Then you will beckon to the young lady to follow you. She will know from my warning that you are friends. If she has a light dress on, throw a dark blanket round her, for many of the Kaffirs will go on feasting all night, and might see her in the light of the fire. Then I will hurry her away, and your men follow us so as to stop the Kaffirs a moment and give us time to get into the bushes if we are seen."

"Kreta will go himself," the chief said, "with two of his young men. Do you not think, incos, that there is danger in your calling out?"

"Not much danger, I think, Kreta. They will not dream of a white man being here, in the heart of the Amatolas. I think there is less danger in it than that the girl might cry out if she was roused from her sleep by men whom she did not know. She might think that it was Macomo come home."

Kreta agreed in this opinion.

"I will go down at once," Ronald said; "they're making such a noise that it is unlikely any one outside the hut would hear me, however loud I spoke, while if I waited until it got quieter, I might be heard. Take my rifle, Kreta, and one of the pistols; I want to carry nothing extra with me, in case I have to make a sudden bolt for it."

Mary Armstrong was lying apparently unnoticed by the wall of the hut, while a dozen women were chattering round the fire in the centre. Suddenly she started; for from the door, which was but three feet high, there came a loud, clear voice, "Mary Armstrong, do not sleep to-night. Rescue is at hand."

The women started to their feet with a cry of alarm at these mysterious sounds, and stood gazing at the entrance; then there was a clamour of tongues, and presently one of them, older than the rest, walked to the entrance and looked out.

"There is no one here," she said, looking round, and the greater part of the women at once rushed out. Their conduct convinced Mary Armstrong that she was not in a dream, as she at first thought, but had really heard the words. Who could have spoken them, or what rescue could reach her? This she could not imagine; but she had sufficient self-possession to resume her reclining position, from which she had half risen, and to close her eyes as if sound asleep. A minute later, one of the women appeared with a blazing brand, and held it close to her eyes.

"The girl is asleep," she said in Kaffir, which Mary understood perfectly; "what can have been the words we heard?"

"It must have been an evil spirit," another woman said; "who else can have spoken in an unknown tongue to us?"

There was a good deal of hubbub in the kraal when the women told their story; some of the men took up their weapons and searched the village and the surrounding bushes, but the greater portion altogether disbelieved the story. Whoever heard of a spirit talking in an unknown tongue to a lot of women? If he had wanted to say anything to them, he would have spoken so that they could understand. It must have been some man who had drunk too much, and who bellowed in at the door to startle them; and so gradually the din subsided, the men returned to the dance, and the women to their huts.

Had Mary Armstrong been in spirits to enjoy it, she would have been amused at the various propositions started by the women to account for the voice they had heard; not one of them approached the truth, for it did not occur to them as even possible that a white man should have penetrated the Amatolas to Macomo's kraal.

THE RESCUE.

Ronald, with Kreta and two of his men, now crept down to the very edge of the bushes at a spot where they could command a view of the entrance to the hut. For a long time female figures came in and out, and it was not until long past midnight that they saw the last female figure disappear inside and the skin drawn across the entrance.

"How long shall we give them, Kreta?"

"In an hour Kreta will go see," the chief said; "but better give two hours for all to be fast asleep."

In about an hour Ronald, who had been half lying on the ground with his head on his hands, looked round and found that the chief had stolen away. He sat up and watched the hut intently. The fires were burning low now, although many of the Kaffirs were sitting round them; but there was still light enough for him, looking intently, to see a figure moving along. Once or twice he fancied he saw a dark shadow on the ground close to the hut, but he was not sure, and was still gazing intently when there was a touch on his shoulder, and, looking round, he saw the chief beside him.

"Two women watch," he said, "others all quiet. Give a little time longer, to make sure that all are asleep, then we go on."

It seemed to Ronald fully two hours, although it was less than one, before Kreta again touched him.

"Time to go, incos," he said. "You go down with me to the hut, but not quite close. Kreta bring girl to you. You better not go. Kreta walk more quietly than white man. Noise spoil everything, get all of us killed."

Ronald gave his consent, though reluctantly, but he felt it was right that the Fingo, who was risking his life for his sake, should carry out his plans in his own way. Kreta ordered one of his men to rejoin his companions, and with the other advanced towards the village.

When within forty yards of the hut, he touched Ronald and whispered to him to remain there. Then he and his companion lay down on the ground, and, without the slightest sound that Ronald could detect, disappeared in the darkness, while Ronald stood with his revolver in his hand, ready at any moment to spring forward and throw himself upon the Kaffirs.

Mary Armstrong lay awake, with every faculty upon the stretch. Where the succour was to come from, or how, she could not imagine; but it was evident, at least, that some white man was here, and was working for her. She listened intently to every sound, with her eyes wide open, staring at the two women, who were cooking mealies in the fire, and keeping up a low, murmured talk. She had not even a hope that they would sleep. She knew that the natives constantly sit up talking and feasting until daylight is close at hand; and as they had extra motives for vigilance, she was sure that they would keep awake.

Suddenly, so suddenly that she scarcely knew what had happened, the two women disappeared from her sight. A hand had grasped each tightly by the throat, another hand seized the hair, and, with a sharp jerk, pulled the head on one side, breaking the neck in a moment—a common mode among the Kaffirs of putting any one to death. The whole thing did not occupy a moment, and as the women disappeared from her sight, two natives rose to their feet and looked round. Convinced that this was the succour promised her, she sat up. One of the natives put his finger upon his lips to indicate the necessity of silence, and beckoned for her to rise and come to him. When she did so he wrapped her in a dark blanket and led her to the door. He pushed aside the hanging and went out.

Mary followed close behind him. He now put the blanket over her head and lifted her in his arms. A momentary dread seized her lest this might be an emissary of some other chief, who had sent him to carry off Macomo's new captive, but the thought of the English words reassured her; and, at any rate, even if it were so, her position could not possibly be worse than on the return of Macomo the next morning. She was carried a short distance, then she heard her bearer say in English: "Come along; I take her a bit further. Too close to Kaffir still." She was carried on for some distance. Then there was a stop, and she was placed on her feet; the blanket was removed from her head, and a moment later a dark figure seized her hand.

"Thank God, we have got you out, Miss Armstrong."

The revulsion of feeling at hearing her own tongue was so great that she was not capable of speaking, and she would have fallen had she not been clasped in the arms of the person who addressed her. Her surprise at feeling that the arms that encircled her were bare, roused her.

"Who are you, sir?" she asked, trembling.

"I am Sergeant Blunt, Miss Armstrong. No wonder you did not know me. I am got up in native fashion. You can trust yourself with me, you know."

"Oh, yes, yes," the girl sobbed. "I know I can, you saved my life once before. How did you come here? And, oh, can you tell me any news about my father?"

"He is hurt, Miss Armstrong, but I have every hope that he will recover. Now you must be strong, for we must be miles from here before morning. Can you walk?"

"Oh yes, I can walk any distance," the girl said. "Yesterday it seemed to me that I could not walk an inch further were it to save my life, and they had to carry me the last mile or two, but now I feel strong enough to walk miles."

"She can walk at present, chief," Ronald said, "let us go forward at once."

They were now on the pathway leading down to the kraal. The chief took the lead, telling Mary Armstrong to take hold of his blanket and follow close behind him, while Ronald followed on her heels, the other Fingoes keeping in the rear. The darkness beneath the trees was dense, and it was some time before Ronald could make out even the outline of the figures before him. Before approaching a kraal a halt was always made, and one of the Fingoes went on ahead to see if the fires were out and all natives inside their huts. Several times, although all the human beings were asleep, the scout returned, saying that they could not pass through the kraal, for the dogs had scented him and growled fiercely, and would set up such a barking when the party passed as to bring all the village out to see what was the matter.

Then long detours, that would have been difficult through the thick bush in daylight, but at night were almost impossible, had to be made. Each time that this had to be done, Kreta lifted Mary Armstrong and carried her, and she had now become so exhausted that she was unable even to protest. Ronald would have carried her himself, but he felt that it would be worse than useless to attempt to do so. Though unencumbered, he had the greatest difficulty in making his way through the bushes, which scratched and tore his flesh terribly; but the chief seemed to be possessed of the eyes of a bat, and glided through them, scarcely moving a twig as he passed. After going on for upwards of three hours, the chief stopped.

"It will be getting light soon. We must hide her now. Cannot get further until to-morrow night."

Although Ronald Mervyn, struggling along in the darkness, had not noticed it, the party had for the last hour turned off from the line they had before been following. They stopped by a little stream, running down the valley. Here a native refilled the gourds, and Mary Armstrong felt better after a drink of water.

"I think," Ronald said to her, "that if you were to bathe your face and hands it would refresh you. There is a rock here just at the edge of the stream, I am sure your feet must be sore and blistered. It will be half an hour before there is a gleam of light, and I should recommend you to take off your shoes and stockings and paddle your feet in the water."

"That would be refreshing," the girl said. "My feet are aching dreadfully. Now please tell me all that has happened, and how you came to be here."

Sitting beside her, Ronald told her what had been done from the time when his party arrived and beat off the natives attacking the waggons.

"How can I thank you enough?" she said, when he had finished. "To think that you have done all this for me."

"Never mind about thanks, Miss Armstrong; we are not out of the wood yet, our dangers are only half over, and if it were not that I trust to the cunning of our good friend Kreta and his Fingoes I should have very little hope of getting out of this mess. I think it is just beginning to get light, for I can make out the outlines of the trunks of the trees, which is more than I could do before. I will go and ask Kreta what he is going to do, and by the time I come back perhaps you had better get your shoes on again, and be ready for a start. I don't suppose we shall go far, but no doubt he will find some sort of hiding-place." Kreta, in fact, was just giving instructions to his men.

"We are going out to find some good place to hide away in to-day," he said. "In the morning they search all about the woods. We must get into shelter before it light enough for the men on hill tops to see down through trees. You stop here quiet. In half an hour we come back again. There is plenty time; they no find out yet that woman gone."

In a few minutes Mary Armstrong joined Ronald.

"How do you feel now?" he asked.

"All the fresher and better for the wash," she said; "but I really don't think I could walk very far, my feet are very much blistered. I don't see why they should be so bad; we have only gone about twenty-four miles each day, and I always considered that I could walk twenty miles without difficulty."

"It makes all the difference how you walk, Miss Armstrong. No doubt, if you had been in good spirits, and with a pleasant party, you could have walked fifty miles in two days, although that is certainly a long distance for a woman; but depressed and almost despairing, as you were, it told upon you generally, and doubtless you rather dragged your feet along than walked."

"I don't want to think about it," the girl said, with a shudder. "It seems to have been an awful dream. Some day I will tell you about it; but I cannot now."

"Here are some mealies and some cold meat. We each brought a week's supply with us when we left the waggons. I am sure that you will be all the better for eating something."

"I do feel very hungry, now I think of it," the girl assented; "I have hardly eaten a mouthful since that morning."

"I am hungry myself," Ronald said "I was too anxious yesterday to do justice to my food."

"I feel very much better now," the girl said when she had finished. "I believe I was faint from want of food before, although I did not think of it. I am sure I could go on walking now. It was not the pain that stopped me, but simply because I didn't feel as if I could lift my foot from the ground. And there is one thing I want to say: I wish you would not call me Miss Armstrong, it seems so formal and stiff, when you are running such terrible risks to save me. Please call me Mary, and I will call you Harry. I think I heard you tell my father your name was Harry Blunt."

"That is the name I enlisted under, it is not my own name; men very seldom enlist under their own names."

"Why not?" she asked in surprise.

"Partly, I suppose, because a good many of us get into scrapes before we enlist, and don't care for our friends to be able to trace us."

"I am sure you never got into a scrape," the girl said, looking up into Ronald's face.

"I got into a very bad scrape," Ronald answered, "a scrape that has spoilt my whole life; but we will not talk about that. But I would rather, if you don't mind, that you should call me by my own name now we are together. If we get out of this I shall be Sergeant Blunt again, but I should like you to call me Ronald now."

"Ronald," the girl said, "that sounds Scottish."

"I am not Scotch, nor so far as I know is there any Scotch blood in my veins, but the name has been in the family a good many years; how it got there I do not know."

"I almost wish it was dark again," the girl said, with a little laugh; "in the dark you seem to me the Sergeant Blunt who came just in time to save us that day the farm was attacked; but now I can see you I cannot recognise you at all; even your eyes look quite different in that black skin."

"I flatter myself that my get up is very good," Ronald laughed. "I have had some difficulty in keeping up the colour. Each day before starting we have gone to our fires and got fresh charcoal and mixed it with some grease we brought with us and rubbed it in afresh."

"Your hair is your weak point, Ronald; but, of course, no European could make his hair like a native's. Still, as it is cut so close, it would not be noticed a little way off."

Two or three of the Fingoes had by this time returned, and in a few minutes all had gathered at the spot. Kreta listened to the reports of each of his men, and they held a short consultation. Then he came up to Ronald.

"One of my men has found a place that will do well," he said. "It is time we were going."

One of the Fingoes now took the lead; the others followed. A quarter of an hour's walk up the hill, which grew steeper and steeper every step, brought them to a spot where some masses of rock had fallen from above. They were half covered with the thick growth of brushwood. The native pushed one of the bushes aside, and showed a sort of cave formed by a great slab of rock that had fallen over the others. Kreta uttered an expression of approval. Two of the natives crept in with their assegais in their hands. In two or three minutes one of them returned with the bodies of two puff adders they had killed. These were dropped in among some rocks.

"You can go in now," Kreta said. "There are no more of them."

Ronald crawled in first, and helped Mary Armstrong in after him; the natives followed. Kreta came in last, carefully examining the bush before he did so, to see that no twig was broken or disarranged. He managed as he entered to place two or three rocks over the entrance.

"Good place," he said, looking round as he joined the others. It was indeed of ample size to contain the party, and was some four feet in height. Light came in in several places between the rocks on which the upper slab rested.

"It could not be better, Kreta, even if it had been made on purpose. It was lucky indeed your fellow found it."

"We found two or three others," the chief said, "but this best."

"It is lucky those men came in first and found the snakes," Mary Armstrong said, "for we have not got here the stuff we always use in the colony as an antidote, and their bite is almost always fatal unless that can be used in time." Ronald was aware of this, and had, indeed, during the night's march, had snakes constantly in his mind, for he knew that they abounded in the hills.

One of the Fingoes had taken his station at the entrance, having moved one of the stones the chief had placed there, so that he could sit with his head out of the opening. Half an hour after they had entered the cave he turned round and spoke to the chief.

"The Kaffirs are hunting," Kreta said. Listening at the opening they could hear distant shouts. These were answered from many points, some of them comparatively close.

"The news is being passed from kraal to kraal," Ronald said; "they will be up like a swarm of bees now, but search as they will they are not likely to find us here. Do you think they will trace us at all, chief?"

"They will find where we stopped close to kraal," Kreta said; "the dead leaves were stirred by our feet; after that not find, too many people gone along path; ground very hard; may find, sometime, mark of the white woman's shoe; but we leave path many times, and after I carry no find at all. Mountains very big, much bush; never find here."

The chief now told his follower to replace the stone and join the others, and ordered all to be silent. Sitting with his ear at one of the openings he listened to the sounds in the woods; once or twice he whispered that Kaffirs were passing close, searching among the bushes; and one party came so near that their words could be plainly heard in the cave. They were discussing the manner in which the fugitive had escaped, and were unanimous in the belief that she had been carried off by the followers of some other chief, for that an enemy should have penetrated into the heart of the Amatolas did not strike them as possible.

The argument was only as to which of the other chiefs would have ventured to rob Macomo, and the opinion inclined to the fact that it must have been Sandilli himself, who would doubtless have heard, from the messenger sent over on the previous afternoon to inform Macomo, of the return of the band with a pretty young white woman as a captive. Macomo had of course been drunk, and Sandilli might have determined to have the prize carried off for himself.

Mary Armstrong shuddered as she listened to the talk, but when they had gone on Kreta said:

"Good thing the Kaffirs have that thought, not search so much here. Search in Sandilli's country. Perhaps make great quarrel between Macomo and Sandilli. Good thing that."

As the day went on the spirits of the Fingoes rose, and in low tones they expressed their delight at having outwitted the Kaffirs.

No footsteps had been heard in their neighbourhood for some time, and they felt sure that the search had been abandoned in that quarter. Towards sunset all ate a hearty meal, and as soon as it became dark the stones at the entrance were removed and the party crept out. Mary Armstrong had slept the greater part of the day, and Ronald and the Fingoes had also passed a portion of their time in sleep. They started, therefore, refreshed and strong.

It took them many hours of patient work before they arrived at the edge of the forest on the last swell of the Amatolas. They had been obliged to make many detours to avoid kraals, and to surmount the precipices that often barred their way. They had started about eight in the evening, and it was, as they knew from the stars, fully three o'clock in the morning when they emerged from the forest.

Mary Armstrong had kept on well with the rest; her feet were extremely painful, but she was now strong and hopeful, and no word of complaint escaped her. Ronald and the chief kept by her side, helping her up or down difficult places, and assisting her to pass through the thorny bushes, which caught her dress, and would have rendered it almost impossible for her to get through unaided. Once out of the bush, the party hurried down the grassy slope, and then kept on a mile further. The chief now gave a loud call. It was answered faintly from the distance; in five minutes the sound of a horse's hoofs were heard, and in a short time the Fingo who had been left in charge of it, galloped up with Ronald's horse. Mary Armstrong was sitting on the ground, for she was now so utterly exhausted she could no longer keep her feet, and had, since they left the bush, been supported and half carried by Ronald and Kreta. She made an effort to rise as the horse came up.

"Please wait a moment; I will not be above two minutes," Ronald said; "but I really cannot ride into Williamstown like this."

He unstrapped his valise, took the jack-boots that were hanging from the saddle, and moved away in the darkness. In two or three minutes he returned in his uniform.

"I feel a civilised being again," he said, laughing; "a handful of sand at the first stream we come to will get most of this black off my face. I have left my blanket as a legacy to any Kaffir who may light upon it. Now I will shift the saddle a few inches further back. I think you had better ride before me, for you are completely worn out, and I can hold you there better than you could hold yourself if you were to sit behind me." He strapped on his valise, shifted his saddle, lifted Mary up, and sprang up behind her.