At breakfast on the day after the lion-hunt Ferrier, who was silent and seemed embarrassed, said suddenly--
"I say, old boy, d'you know I've been here nearly two months?"
"What! Getting tired of it?" said John, with a smile.
"Not a bit; only--well, to put it straight, I've been here so long that I ought to pay for my keep."
"Rot!"
"I mean it. It's all very well to be your guest for a week or two, and I'm jolly comfortable, but to hang on like this--no, really, I ought to pay something to help keep the pot boiling."
"Now look here, Charles Ferrier, you're a very good sort, but I'm hanged if I stand that. If there's any talk of pay, I ought to pay you for your services. Five weeks in charge while I was droving--name your figure. Rounding up strayed cattle; looking after the natives--how much that lot? You do far more in a day than any hired man, as I believe you call 'em in your part of the world."
"Well, I like it, and I've nothing else to do; in fact, I've a great mind to settle about here myself, and I would, like a shot, if it weren't for Hilda. I'm afraid it wouldn't do to bring her among the lions, as your khansaman said. But here I am, learning all about it on the cheap, and with no responsibility."
"Look here, we'll leave it at that. I'm very glad of your company, to say nothing of your help, and as by the look of it that misguided father of mine has been hooked, and the widow must be rolling in money, I don't suppose we shall see him back here. He'll settle down in Park Lane, and die before his time of overfeeding. You stay on as long as you like, and if you're getting experience, I'm getting your services, so we'll cry quits."
So it was left. The two young fellows shared in the management of the farm. They found their time pretty fully occupied, and a portion of a letter which John wrote to his father a week or two later may be quoted as showing how affairs at the farm were progressing.
The rains have stopped, and I've got all the planting done. I'm trying some radish and rhubarb this season; also carrots, which Mr. Gillespie told me are good for the cattle. By the way, that bull we called Moses because he's fierce, is off his feed; I don't know what's wrong with him, and you might send me Barton's book on common ailments. I don't suppose you'll find a copy in Geneva, or wherever you are now, but if you're not too busy to send a card in London, I dare say I'll get it when Moses is dead.
"That'll touch him up, Charley; he'll think Moses would be all right if he were here."
I bought a few fat-tailed sheep from old Sobersides (the chief of the neighbouring village) the other day. He got them, he says, from a party of Rendili who were driven south of the Waso Nyiro by the drought in their own country. I don't suppose it's true, for Coja tells me the Rendili live a big long way beyond the mountain, and we've seen nothing of them.
Sobersides tells us, too, that a gang of Swahilis have established themselves somewhere north of Kenya, and are raiding the surrounding tribes. As they've got guns, I bet they're that sweep Juma and his crew. That's all we've heard of them since we licked them.
Ferrier is still here; says he's in loco parentis, and won't leave me till you return to your duties. I wonder if you tell the widow's children that you're in loco parentis?
The lions have been quiet lately, since Said Mohammed saved my life; but as the mistris had next to nothing to do and were getting too fat, I have set them to build a stronger boma, of stout poles fastened together with transverse logs. That ought to keep the beasts out; at any rate it will give the place more the look of a respectable stockyard.
I wish you'd ship a few merinos for cross-breeding. Our half-breeds aren't much good for wool. The May lambs were born with long coarse hair, though they grew a poor sort of wool at three months. Wasama doesn't like the woolled sheep; he says they're not like the sheep of his country, and persists in believing that the first woolled beasts were the offspring of lions and hyenas. What ignorance! as old Martha used to say.
Out shooting the other day we saw a herd of zebras, and Ferrier has got a mad idea of catching some of the foals and taming them. We may try it if we come across them again, so don't be surprised if you see us riding to meet you on striped chargers. You, I expect, will be wearing striped trousers, light gloves, and a new silk topper.
The failed B.A. is a perpetual joy. His latest. Ferrier found a hair in his soup the other night. "Accept humble apologies, sir," says Said Mohammed, as he took it away. "In such circs. I can best cheer you up by reminding you of a verse of the little but divine Alexander Pope: 'And beauty draws us with a single hair.'" That may appeal to you, dad.
I hope your leg is all right, and you're enjoying yourself. I've got to work for my living.
One day the younger Masai, who had taken a flock of sheep out to graze at the extreme west of the estate, came rushing in breathless and reported with intense excitement that the sheep had been driven off by some men who had pounced suddenly out of the bush. One was a Swahili, the rest negroes. They had carried him along with them for some distance and then let him go.
"How many were they?" asked John.
"Eight," replied the boy. "One had a gun."
"Which way did they go?"
The boy pointed to the west.
"We can tackle eight, Charley. Coja, saddle up the two best donkeys and bring us our rifles. This is something new, Charley. I wonder if it's our friend Juma again?"
"Rum thing, their letting the boy go, don't you think?" said Ferrier. "They must know we'll be after them, especially if the Swahili is Juma; it's not the first time you've chased him."
"He reckons on getting away, or on our not finding the trail, I suppose. We'll take Bill with us."
But when, riding their donkeys hard, they came to the little hut in the wood, they found that the Wanderobbo was not there.
"He's gone for honey, I suppose," said John. "Never mind; we oughtn't to find it difficult to track sheep."
They set off at full speed, and easily picked up the trail at the place where the marauders had rushed from their hiding-place in the bush. They followed it without difficulty so long as it led across grass country, but lost it for a time soon after they entered the bush, because there were evident signs that a herd of animals larger that sheep had recently forced a way. However, they recovered it again after ten minutes' search, and found from that point that it led in almost a straight line--so straight that John was puzzled.
"I can't make out why they haven't tried to blind their trail and lead us astray," he said. "They must be very cocksure, or else they're trying to ambuscade us. We'd better keep a sharp look-out."
They rode more slowly now, yet at a brisk pace, narrowly examining every specially thick bush as they approached it, and avoiding any clump of woodland that might give cover to the marauders.
Suddenly, when they were a good five miles, as John estimated, from the farm, on ascending a gradual slope they saw from its crest the flock of sheep placidly grazing on a little patch of grass about half-a-mile below. There was no sign of the raiders, and the surrounding bush being very thin, they must have been visible had they remained in the immediate vicinity. Cantering down towards the sheep, which scattered as they approached, the riders dismounted, rounded them up, and proceeded to count them.
"They're the Welsh crosses," said John. "Forty-nine--one missing. I can't make this out at all. Look, here's the trail of the men, let's follow it up. We'll tether the donkeys. The sheep won't leave this grass."
The trail led them straight towards a wood a mile further on. At the edge of this they saw clear signs of a sheep having been slaughtered and cut up. Entering the wood cautiously, they followed the trail for some distance, finding that it wound towards the north. Both were itching to punish the raiders, but the trail became more and more difficult to distinguish as the wood grew denser, and at length, hot and tired, and as much mystified as angry, they turned back and came out once more into the open.
"It's something to have got the sheep," said John. "But what was the beggars' game? They couldn't have seen us after them, and they wouldn't drive the whole flock so far for the sake of cutting up one."
"Sheer devilry, perhaps," suggested Ferrier. "They knew we'd overtake 'em before they had got very far, and I dare say are chuckling at having given us all the trouble for nothing. Rather a poor game, one would think."
"Well, we'd better drive the sheep home. It's a long march, and they'll be pretty well done up by the time we get there."
They remounted, and headed the flock towards the farm. Sheep, as every one knows, and as John had experienced on the road to Nairobi, are very slow travellers.
"By Jove!" said Ferrier, when they had marched for an hour and covered perhaps two miles, "I begin to understand what your droving job was like. I should never have had the patience."
"I'd give anything for a good sheep-dog. I must ask my father to bring one with him--or send one, if he doesn't intend to come himself."
It was on the verge of nightfall when, tired and hungry, they came to the outskirts of the farm. They heard the bleating of the animals that had been already penned, and the flock, weary as they were, moved a little faster to rejoin their kind. Coming to the gate of the boma, John was surprised to find it open, having given strict orders that it should always be closed immediately after the animals were brought in for the night. There was not a man to be seen. Having driven the sheep into their pens, they hurried on towards the farm buildings.
"What a smell of wood smoke!" said Ferrier, sniffing.
"Yes; I hope they haven't set fire to anything. Ah! here's Wasama."
The Masai came running towards them, followed by his son, the Indians, Coja and Lulu, all in great haste.
"The bad men, bwana!" cried Coja, and began to pour out a story so rapidly that John, familiar as he now was with Swahili, could make little of it, especially as Lulu and the Masai joined in with great excitement. John silenced them, and asked Said Mohammed to explain what had happened. His story, told in more direct and natural language than John had ever heard from him before, was as follows. About half-an-hour after John had started in pursuit of the raiders Bill had rushed in, dripping wet, and reported that a large party of armed men, having raided the village north of the river, were marching rapidly down with the evident intention of swimming across and making an attack on the farm. The Bengali, according to his own account, wished to close the gate and bar the doors of the bungalow, and defend it to the last; but John afterwards had reason to believe that this was Coja's proposal, and he had found nobody to support him. Only a few minutes after Bill's arrival the strangers were seen rushing into the farmstead. The mistris, the Masai, Lulu, and the few women of the village who had been working in the fields instantly fled and hid themselves, who knows where. Said Mohammed went into his own house, and there awaited the coming of the enemy, resolved to die for the sahib whose salt he had eaten. The men seized him and dragged him forth, demanding that he should tell them where the rifles and ammunition were kept.
"That made me very ratty, sir," said the Bengali. "What! should I tell tales out of school? But when those fearful bounders threatened to roast me at my own fire I reflected that it could not be your wish, nor the wish of your excellent progenitor, that a failed B.A. of Calcutta University should be roast joint for the sake of a quantity of villainous saltpetre, et cetera, and therefore I owned up. But while the banditti were gloating and slapping their backs I took French leave by the back door, and lo! ensconced behind the barn was Coja, who like me had saved his bacon."
From their hiding-place they watched the proceedings of the enemy. They first of all carried all the rifles out of the bungalow; then from the little outhouse adjoining it they brought all the ammunition and all the "trade." The place had been stripped bare, as the Bengali found when he examined it after the men had gone. The negroes had then shouldered the loot under the direction of three Swahilis who had guns, and when they had marched off, the Swahilis had kindled a fire in the little space between the floor of the bungalow and the ground. Then they had hurried off after the rest. As soon as they had disappeared, Coja and the Bengali emerged from their hiding-places, and extinguished the fire with water from the rain-water tank near the dairy. Very little damage had been done, the incendiaries having been in such haste to overtake the rest of their party that they had not waited to ensure a good blaze.
In the first shock of hearing this bad news both John and Ferrier used such language as might have been expected of them. It was only too clear now that the sheep-stealing had been a mere blind, cunningly devised to decoy them from the farm while the real raid was effected. To John it was a disaster. When he hurried into the outhouses and bungalow and found that rifles, ammunition, and every bundle of "trade" were gone, he felt that ruin stared him in the face. It is not surprising that, tired out after his long day's work, he saw things even blacker than they were. There was still a balance at the bank, Cousin Sylvia having insisted on paying all the expenses of Mr. Halliday's tour; though if John drew upon that there would be little or no reserve in case the second year's working turned out unprofitable. Meanwhile the actual loss was heavy, and the inconvenience perhaps greater, for without the "trade" he could not pay the labourers from the village, and what with the lack of wages and the damage to their employer's prestige, John foresaw a refusal to work any more.
An examination of the bungalow showed that the floor was little more than scorched. Nothing had been taken from it except the rifles, so far as John could see. He kept very little cash, but that was intact. His rupee notes were always stowed for security in the pockets of his belt. It was clear that the raiders had come for arms and "trade" only, and having got what they wanted had wasted no time in merely looting.
"We can't sit down under this," said John, when he had realized the extent of his loss. "Yet I don't know what on earth we can do. We've two rifles and twenty rounds apiece, against--how many did these ruffians number, khansaman?"
"In mental arithmetic, sir, I am mere greenhorn, rank duffer; but from cursory squint I figure them at five hundred."
"Oh, come now, that won't do. If they had been so many they wouldn't have been in such a hurry, Where's Bill?"
"He has not come within my sphere of influence since he ran in like drowned rat to give us the straight tip, sir."
"Well, get us something to eat. We're famished. By the way, did any one recognize Juma among them?"
"No, sah; no Juma to-day, sah," said Coja. "Him berry much 'fraid to come heah, 'cause of Lulu, sah. Him show him face, ha! ha! she give him what for, sah."
"Go and get your supper."
John spoke irritably. Normally good-tempered, he was now unlike himself.
"And I might have guessed it if I had any gumption," he said to Ferrier. "Juma took advantage of the sheep straying to run off with our rifles before, and it didn't require much ingenuity to invent the ruse."
"Cheer up, old chap. You'll feel better when you've had some grub. It's very sickening, but as you say, I don't see what we can do."
It was now quite dark, and they ate their supper in silence. Even Said Mohammed's excellent cookery could not overcome John's furious disgust at having been tricked. When the Bengali brought in an omelet he said--
"A thousand and one pardons, sir. The wanderer, videlicet Wanderobbo, has returned, and asks for honour of confab."
"Bring him in, and fetch Coja; it takes too long to understand Bill without him."
Bill had come to report that he had followed up the raiders for several miles to the north. They had robbed the villagers of all their foodstuffs, and all the "trade" which they had received as wages for their work on the farm, and then marched directly northward, coming after a few miles to an encampment where they were presently joined by a smaller party from the west. When he came to this part of his story Bill grew much excited. In the leader of the smaller party he recognized one of the safari which years before had attacked his village, killed his people, and plundered their store of ivory--the ivory which by rights belonged to him, and which he would yet recover.
"But that's nonsense," said John. "If these people seized his ivory years ago, it has all been sold long before this."
When this was interpreted to Bill he was like a man demented, and poured out a torrent of incoherent speech which even Coja was unable to understand. John dismissed them both, thinking that the Wanderobbo must have brooded over some old grievance until it had turned his brain.
"Bill's report has given me a notion," he said to Ferrier presently. "If they looted the village they'll be pretty heavily loaded and will go slowly. They won't march during the night, and if this business happened about five hours ago we ought to be able to overtake them if we start early in the morning."
"But, my dear fellow----" began Ferrier.
"Oh, I know it's a risk, and we're outnumbered, and we ought to be prudent, and all the other things that people say who sit in easy-chairs and wear goloshes. But it's the only thing to be done, and I'm going to do it."
"But do you think it's right to leave the farm? Wouldn't your father----"
"Hang--no, I don't mean that; I'm afraid I'm rather a bad-tempered brute to-night, old fellow; but look at it clearly, and you'll agree with me. If we sit down under this they'll try it on again. The farm will never be safe. We might as well cut our sticks at once."
"Why not apply to the Government?"
"Absolutely useless. To begin with, it would take time, and the raiders would be who knows how far away? If they belong to that gang we heard of who've got some sort of a fort up north, they're in a country where precious few white men have ever been, if any. It would be sheer folly to send a police column into the hills after a roving band of this sort. No, it's a settlers' job; it's one of the risks we run, like the lions, and we've got to deal with it."
"Well, but how are you going to set about it?"
"How are we going to, you mean."
"A slip of the tongue, old chap. Of course I'm with you, all along the line. How are we going to set about it, then?"
"Don't know yet. That's what we've got to decide before we go to bed to-night. One thing's certain, we must make up our minds quickly, start soon, and hurry like the very dickens, for if there's any truth in this tale of a fort, we must collar our rifles and ammunition before they get to it, or we're done. That's the first thing: to get our rifles back."
"That's a large order. How many did they take?"
"Four and a shot-gun. If they're the same lot we dealt with before they'll have about a dozen now. I know we don't stand the ghost of a chance of recovering them in a fight; that's absurd; but I rather think if we put our heads together we can find some way of diddling them."
"If it's a matter of brains I'm conceited enough to believe we have the odds, but there's a lot to consider besides. We shall have to take a safari to carry provisions, and a pretty big one if we're going to bluff them. They won't bolt as they did before. Well, where will you get your safari from?"
"The village. What are you smiling at? Snakes, I forgot they've run off with all my "trade." I've nothing to pay porters with. That's bad. Still, the chief has known us some time, and perhaps he'll trust us. I'll see, first thing in the morning."
"Who will you leave in charge of the farm? Not the Bengali?"
"Rather not. He may be a very Nimrod in the Sunderbunds, but he's a funk-stick here. No; Coja's a better man."
"But you'll want him to interpret."
"'M. Afraid I shall. I can rub along pretty well with Swahili by this time, but we may come across a tribe who don't know it, and that would certainly be awkward. Well, Coja must come with us, then."
"What I suggest is that you should send a note to Mr. Gillespie and ask him to send up a respectable European to take charge. He might come himself; he hasn't paid you the visit he promised, and if you tell him what you're after I'm sure he'll do what he can. Besides, if we get bowled over, you know, it would be just as well he should have heard about the business beforehand, for your father's sake. And I'd send a note to the Commissioner at Fort Hall too; he may be inclined to stretch a point."
"I'll do both. A good idea to get Gillespie up here, or some one he can trust. Of course if we're lucky we shall get our rifles and things and be back here long before he could arrive. But then we mayn't. I'll write before we turn in. That's settled."
"Don't you think we ought to have some sort of a plan before we start?"
"Our plan is to go straight after the raiders, and march two miles or more to their one."
"That's all right; but what if they reckon on being pursued and lay a trap for us? You see, they were pursued last time, and they hadn't done nearly so much damage then."
"That's true," said John; "but on the other hand there's such a lot of them this time--we can divide Mohammed's five hundred by five--there's such a lot that they may think we'll not attempt to bring them to book. Still, we ought to be on our guard. The worst of it is that if we have to go carefully we shall have to go slowly, and time's everything in this job. Hand me a cigarette and let's think it over."
"Any good asking Bill?"
"Not a bit. He can do tracking, follow his nose, but that's about all. Besides, he's so cranky just now that he's fit for nothing. I wonder how much truth there is in this ivory yarn of his? We may get to the bottom of it by and by. But this plan of ours--any ideas, Charley?"
"Not a ghost of one. We must follow the track, and that may lead us into an ambush."
"Wait a bit, though. If we could march on a line parallel to it we might go as fast as we liked without much danger."
"How could we do that--far enough away from it not to be spotted, and yet near enough not to lose it?"
"Of course we couldn't all go together; some one must keep on the track, and that must be Bill for one."
"That wouldn't be much good. How could we keep in touch with him? I've got a field-glass, but that will be useless if we have to go through much wood. We can't rig Bill up with wireless!"
"No, but I'll tell you what we can do. You take the safari on the parallel line; I'll go with Bill and take my pocket-mirror with me. It will make a fine heliograph. You know the code, of course?"
"I do, as it happens. I could signal back with my watch-case. But that won't help us if there's a wood or a hill between us."
"Well, we must chance that; and as Bill and I shall be able to go much faster than you with the safari, we can come over to you if necessary; you see what I mean: come and go between the two tracks and yet keep up with you."
"I think that's got it. I suppose it's no use thinking what we'll do when we come up with the raiders?"
"No; all will depend on when we find them, and where. I'm not going to think of that, and as we shall have to be up early to interview the chief and get our things together, I vote we go to bed."
"Don't forget your letters."
"Right. Off you go. Goodness knows when we'll sleep next."
John wrote the two letters he had spoken of, and a third, a brief note to his father explaining what had happened. Then he went to bed thoroughly tired out, and slept like a top.
Next morning one of the most serious of his difficulties was unexpectedly removed. As soon as it was light, the chief came over from the village with some of his people to beg the msungu to follow up the bad men and recover the stores they had stolen. John jumped at the opportunity. He agreed to do so if the chief would allow forty of his strongest young men to act as porters. He pointed out that the villagers had as great a cause of quarrel with the raiders as he had himself, so that the bargain he proposed was reasonable. The chief agreed to it at once. John's recent exploits in slaying the rhinoceros and the lion, his former successes against the raiders, and above all his fairness and punctuality in paying the villagers for their labour, had won him the respect of his neighbours, and they joined him with full confidence that the expedition would be successful. Preparations were quickly made, a considerable quantity of food was packed up, two runners were sent off with the letters, and by seven o'clock the safari was ready to start.
At the last moment Said Mohammed came up to John.
"With submission, sir," he said, "I offer myself as unit in this expeditionary force. I undertake to be no cipher, but integer, sir, and not a minus quantity. Need I remind you of the saying of some great and glorious general whose name I have forgotten, that an army marches upon its tummy? Verb. sap. Grub, sir, is the sinews of war, and astounding military gumption is no go without a cook. Furthermore, was I not honoured to interpose unworthy corpus between raging lion and your honour's nobility? If so, what is a life saved if not also preserved? Permit me, therefore, to be the life-preserver."
"All right. Hurry up! No time to waste," said John, remarking to Ferrier, as the Bengali went off to fetch his bundle: "I suppose he's afraid the place will be attacked again in our absence."
"A bad look-out if it is."
"Well, we shall soon find out whether the whole gang of the raiders are on the march. If they are, I don't think they'll come back, and as nobody else has molested us for more than a year I think we may be pretty easy. Now, khansaman, buck up; we're off."
John had already decided that every member of the party should go on foot. Donkeys might prove a great nuisance if the country was difficult; moreover, mounted men would form conspicuous objects in the plains. Accordingly Ferrier and he had donned stout-soled boots, and set off to tramp after Bill and Coja, who had gone ahead with the chief to select the men for the safari. Said Mohammed brought up the rear.