CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
THE NAKED IMPI.
The police camp was still and silent in the early dawn, if dawn it couldbe called, for a damp, dark mist wrapped the earth in thick folds. Ithad been found necessary to go into camp, if only to rest the horses forthe next day's march, which would bring the escort to Esifeni. It wasdeemed fairly safe too, in view of the defeat inflicted upon the enemythe evening before. Besides, they had got into open country now, andthe close quarter surprise in the bush was no longer possible.
Was it not? Here was a worse enemy than thick bush. In the couple ofhours before dawn the mist had stolen down upon them, shrouding thewhole camp with a feeling of dazed helplessness. The vedettes thrownout on four sides, three men strong apiece, might as well not have beenthere now. Mist is a dreadfully formidable auxiliary to a wary,determined foe, stealing in cautiously behind it.
Of course all had lain down, ready for the smallest call to arms. Mostwere asleep; young men, fearless, healthily tired, are not likely to bekept awake by such a trifle--all in the day's work--as a possibleattack. Not all so slept, however. Verna, pale, haggard, hollow-eyedwith grief, was carefully sponging out her rifle; eager now in herfierce longing for some kind of vengeance, even though vicariousvengeance, for another opportunity of using it to some purpose. Nocompunction of any sort was in her mind now. The more of _his_ slayersshe could send to join him in the other world, the greater would be herjoy--the only joy left to her. She had declined Sub-Inspector Dering'soffer to clean the weapon for her on the ground that any sort ofoccupation was better than none, and sleep was impossible.
By this time the whole Force was aware of the relationship existingbetween her and the missing man, and all forbore or feared to intrudeupon her grief. Stony-eyed, silent, under this second blow, she staredforth upon the enshrouding mist, as though to pierce its dark folds andsee--what? Her father was frankly snoring. It was characteristic ofthat hardened up-country adventurer that nothing short of absolutenecessity should be allowed to interfere with the recuperating powers ofnature. The two officers in command, likewise the same number ofsergeants, were wide awake, and conversing in low tones.
It grew lighter and lighter, the mist notwithstanding. The sun must beup. They thought of giving orders to saddle up. By the time theprocess was accomplished, and Minton's miserable harness got intoworking order by the agency of countless bits of string and _reimpje_,it would be clear enough to march. But there was a guardian angel overthat camp after all.
Suddenly a shot rang out, then another. In an instant the whole campwas astir. But no flurry, no fuss. As we have said, the whole escorthad slept under arms, and each trooper awoke in his place and ready.Two more shots followed from the same quarter, but this time muchnearer, then a small volley from another vedette posted on the next faceof the camp.
A swirl of air cleft the mist. From the sides on which the shots werefired the vedettes were now seen running in.
"Large impi close on us, sir," reported the first to arrive,breathlessly. "Hardly six hundred yards now."
Inspector Bray issued but one short order. He had been prepared forsuch a contingency, and everything had been prearranged on pitchingcamp. Now, in a second, each man had built up what cover he could withhis saddle and blanket, and lay behind it, his rifle forward, alert andready. He had not long to wait.
Another swirl of air rolled back the mist, leaving a quarter of a mileon that side exposed as by the raising of a curtain. It was as thesentinels had said. In crescent formation the dense black cloud swepton--in dead silence--a phalanx of shields, a perfect bristle ofassegais. A black impi--a naked impi--no dirty tattered shirts orragged store clothes among these. They were as the old-time warriors ofthe king--with flowing war adornments and crested headgear and greattufted shields. And they were no further off than four hundred yards.
A sharp word of command and the police rifles rang out. The oncomingranks were shaken, but with the second volley the whole advancing masshad sunk like magic to the earth, and the discharge swept over themharmlessly. At the same time a terrific volley swept over the camp_from the rear of the assailants_. These, under cover of it, made anearer rush, and the same tactics were repeated.
"By God!" shouted Bray, taking in this, and excited by a couple ofbullets whizzing over, and very near to, his head. "There's tactics inthis. Covering their advance! Who the devil could have taught themthat move, eh, Halse?"
The latter said nothing at first, but he thought he knew.
"It's Sapazani's prime impi," he declared. "No clothes, and chargingin. We've got our job cut out. Not `shirt-tail' warriors these, butquite after the real old style."
As the "covering tactic" was repeated the impi extended withlightning-like rapidity, following out the old Zulu practice of throwingout surrounding "horns." They could not have been less than a thousandstrong--rather over than under. And now for the first time arose fromthat number of throats the roar of the war-shout--
"Usutu!"
The police horses were now thrown into confusion--several of them hadfallen in that overhead volley, standing high as they did, and werekicking and struggling in all directions; indeed, it was all that thosetold off to hold them could do to restrain them on the picket lines atall. As yet, however, not a man had been hit.
"The chief!" ejaculated Ben Halse eagerly, touching Bray on the arm."Sapazani."
In the forefront of the impi, waving his great shield, Sapazani was nowconspicuous. His gigantic form, the towering black ostrich plumes stuckwithin his head-ring would have marked him anywhere. But he seemed tobear a charmed life. A bullet from Ben Halse clipped one of his plumes,but he shook his head and laughed.
"Greeting, U' Ben! Thy hand and eye are failing," he roared; bounding,leaping, like a wild beast, in the forefront of his followers, who werenow beginning to fall around him in rows. All sides of the camp werebusy now, and but for the quick and, literally, massacring fire pouredinto the rush, would have been overwhelmed.
"The chief! The chief!" shouted the excited men. "Now, then, all athim at once. We'll down the devil."
But they did not. Never still, Sapazani dodged the volley and laughedexultantly. But even as he did so he leaped in the air and fell flat.Those in her neighbourhood looked up at Verna Halse, who, pale as death,with a red spot on each cheek and dull eyes, after one quick glancebegan refilling her magazine.
"By God, Miss Halse, you've killed Sapazani!" ejaculated SergeantDickinson. "You've killed the chief."
It was indeed so. While others had been concentrating their fire onthat whirling, bounding figure without result, Verna, her heart on firewith burning longing for revenge, but her brain dangerously, deadlycool, had been watching her opportunity, watching when a fraction of amoment's stillness on the part of her quarry should give her theopportunity she sought. It had comet and she had taken it.
A rousing, ringing cheer went up from the men. Already on the otherside the combat had become nearly hand to hand. Assegais now werehurled into the camp, and more than one trooper was stricken. Minton,the storekeeper, was raving and cursing with one sticking through hisleg, to the accompaniment of the howling of his progeny; but on the sideled by Sapazani the onslaught wavered. The dead and wounded laytremendously thick, and still the police bandoliers were not half empty,and now amid freshly heartened cheers their contents still played uponthe roaring masses. Then, as the word mysteriously and quickly wentround that the chief was slain, the news instead of inspiring them withthe fury of exasperation had the contrary effect, and lo! as quickly asthey had come on they were now in full retreat. A rain of bulletsfollowed them, but no pursuit was allowed.
Verna had grounded her rifle, and stood looking after the retreatingenemy. Then she walked back to the trap and deposited the weapon,speaking to nobody and ignoring the enthusiastic congratulationsshowered upon her. The while the vanishing curtain of mist was hangingin diminishing filminess over the hills, and the
sun rose bright andglorious into a vault of unclouded blue.
"If you'll take my advice," said Ben Halse to the Inspector, "you'llhave Sapazani verified dead without loss of time. They might rally andrescue him. But look out carefully for the wounded. They may send morethan one man under before they go under themselves."
His advice was needed. In more than one instance some desperate savage,mortally and otherwise disabled, gripped his assegai in a feigned deathgrip to strike a last blow at any who should be unwary enough toapproach him. But Sapazani was found not to be dead, though his dayswere numbered not by hours, but by minutes.
He, as they surrounded him, opened his eyes, but made no act ofaggression, although by an effort he might have reached his broadassegai. Verna's bullet had drilled through his chest, narrowly missingthe heart, and, being a Dum-dum, had torn away a gaping and ghastly holebeneath the shoulder where it had come out. As they propped him upagainst the body of one of his slain followers the rush of blood wasenough to have ended the life of any one but a savage then and there.
"_Whau_!" he ejaculated feebly. "It is U' Ben. And we were friends."
"Were, yes," answered the trader shortly. "No one knows better thanSapazani why we are so no longer."
This, of course, was "dark" talking to Bray and the police. However,they supposed it referred to some trading transaction between these two.And at the same time a very uncomfortable misgiving came into BenHalse's mind. What if the dying chief, out of sheer malignity, were to"give away," for the benefit of the police, some very awkward, not tosay incriminating transactions in which he had been mixed up. ButSapazani's next words were--
"Where is Izibu? for something tells me I died by her stroke. I wouldfain see her again to say farewell."
Ben Halse's face hardened, knowing what he did and what the others didnot. He hesitated, but as he did so a clear, hard voice struck upon hisear--upon the ears of all of them.
"Here is Izibu." And Verna, who had been approaching unseen, joined thegroup.
"It is well," said the dying chief. "I am content. We have beenfriends."
There was a world of pathetic dignity about the man as he sat there, hislarge, powerful frame thrilling in every nerve with bodily anguish, hisfine face wet with the dews of death, as he turned his lustrous butfading eyes upon one or the other of the group.
"Friends!" echoed Verna in biting scorn. "Friends? Where, then, is hewho was left behind yesterday, he who was our friend and thereforeyours?"
Sapazani looked puzzled, then a light seemed to dawn upon him.
"Is it the man who collects snakes and--other things, Izibu?"
She nodded.
"Then of him I know nothing. Nor did I know even that he had been leftbehind, _impela_."
"You swear it?"
"U' Dingiswayo!" said the chief earnestly, invoking the name of theancestral head of his tribe. And then for the first time a ray of hopecame back into Verna's life.
Then the dying man's tone grew drowsy, and his head drooped forward. Hewas muttering words of counsel, of quick command, as though to hisfollowers. Then he subsided to the ground. A sign or two and a groan.Sapazani was dead.
"Poor devil!" said Inspector Bray. "He's a fine fellow when all's saidand done, and a plucky one."
"Whatever else he may be, Sapazani's a gentleman," said Ben Halse, fullyappreciative of the fact that the dead chief had observed the strictestsecrecy with regard to such former transactions as have been alluded to.
But Verna said nothing. She fed and fostered that ray of hope.