Greenoak’s object in getting rid of his horse for a time was that he was going into exceedingly broken and rugged4 country, in parts of which he could not ride at all. A led horse would be a serious impediment, hampering5 him at every step, to say nothing of the repeated plungings and stumblings of the animal among the rocks and stones being nearly as good as a bugle6 for all purposes of telling undesirable7 ears near and far that he was there. Again, it might neigh on occasion, which would serve the same purpose.
Now he struck off at a tangent from his former line of route, and, after some hours of steady walking, got among the broken precipitous ground which overhung the river. Rising from far beneath, he could hear its swirl8 and murmur9. Further down he struck, his labours doubled by his carefulness to avoid any and every sound. For sound travels far on a still night, more especially on a river bank.
He looked about for a place wherein to ensconce himself so that he could see without being seen, and soon found one that answered the purpose so exactly that it might have been made to order. It was a depression overhung by a great rock, and, lying snugly10, with his gaze just over the tip of a hollow, he could command a full view of the river drift, while himself invisible from above.
And now it was as well he had had that long sleep in Matamzima’s hut, for the very restfulness of this place after hours of hard walking rendered even his iron frame lax to the point of drowsiness11. But it was not far to dawn now.
The stillness was absolute, hardly the cry of bird or beast awoke to break it. The loom12 of the Kei hills was well-nigh invisible against the stars, so dark had become this darkest hour before the dawn. Then to Harley Greenoak’s ears came a far-away sound, faint but unmistakable. It was the sound of voices, of native voices, singing. From far down on the plains beyond the river it came, and it was drawing nearer and nearer.
The watcher’s nerves thrilled to the sound. The voices were pitched low; purposely so he knew, none better. Knew also that they proceeded from a moving mass of men. Would the dawn never come?
It would, and it did. The world had grown perceptibly lighter13. The loom of the hills was now distinct, but the depth of the plain was in darkness. Still the moving sound drew nearer, and now in the tense stillness the listener could even distinguish the tenour of the words. It was a song of war.
None but a large and strongly armed band would have ventured thus to advertise its presence. The inference was clear. The body now marching from the Gcaleka country was the expected incursion. If he had been in any doubt before, Harley Greenoak had now already decided14 to himself that his information was accurate.
The darkness faded still more, and now upon the fast lightening plain he was able to make out the moving mass. Lighter still! Hundreds of armed savages16 were advancing to the drift. He could make out detail, and took in the fact that many of them had guns, and now even that indescribable rattle17 of assegai hafts—curiously unlike any other sound—was borne upward to his ears. But the identity of any in the band he could not arrive at.
The war-song had ceased. They descended18 to the drift in silence, and without a moment’s hesitation19 waded20 into the swirling21 current, their weapons held high above their heads. This was breast deep, and as they gained the middle of the stream many linked hands in order to steady themselves against its strength. More than once a deep-toned, smothered22 laugh and a splash told that an odd warrior23 here and there had slipped and got a ducking. Finally, the last had disappeared. He could not see them land, his own side of the river being shut from view by the tree-tops; but he knew exactly where they would land, and the line they would take for Matanzima’s kraal. Harley Greenoak’s work here was done.
The next phase of it was that of warning. Listening intently, he left his hiding-place. There was no sound of life along the river bank, the invading party had gone in an almost contrary direction. He struck into an old path, which followed the downward course of the river, and for some distance was able to travel with ease and rapidity. Then this ceased, giving way to tumbled and broken rocks, every here and there heavily overgrown with trailers. Above, on one side great rugged krantzes walled him in. Not for many miles further down could he strike the open country again. Greenoak had never been along this river bank before, but his experienced eyes took in the hang of it completely.
Suddenly he stopped dead short, listening intently. In front—and not very far in front—the sound of deep-toned voices. In a moment he had slipped into a cleft24 between two rocks, and had drawn25 the trailers over him; and it seemed hardly a moment more when a number of fully26 armed Kafirs appeared, moving leisurely27 along the way he had come, but taking the upward course of the bank. But for their utter unguardedness, they would have met him face to face. As it was, they passed so near as almost to brush the trailers which afforded him such precarious28 concealment29. He held his very breath, so near were they.
They were talking at random30, and a good deal all at once—and something was said about a roast, and how good it was, and the speakers passed on while others succeeded, talking about nothing in particular. But Harley Greenoak, through the interstices, recognised several of them, among others, Mafutana and Sikonile, whose son he had shot. Then he knew that this hiding-place had received him not a moment too soon.
The last of the Kafirs had gone by, but Greenoak was in no hairy to move. When, finally, he decided that it was time to do so, the sun was already flaming up from beyond the Kei hills, and the birds were breaking into song, twittering and calling from the cool shade of krantzes, or balancing on twig31 and spray, joyous32, perky, in the glow of the new-born day.
Suddenly he halted. No sight, no sound, had thus pulled him up, but—an odour. For there came to his nostrils33 a strong smell as of cooking, and it came from in front. He remembered how some of the Kafirs had been talking about a “roast.” Of course, he was coming to where they had spent the night, and had feasted—probably upon stolen stock. Well, he would investigate. But—what if there should be others there?
Cautiously he advanced, weapons ready, peering before him, listening, the strange odour stronger with every step, and he found himself hoping they might have left some of their repast, for he could do with a broil34 himself. And then—
Not altogether unfamiliar35 with scenes of horrific ghastliness himself, at what he now saw, peering cautiously over a great rock, Harley Greenoak felt his blood run cold and his flesh creep.
Beneath lay a hollow, overhung by the beetling36 cliff. The place was evidently the resort of a gang of cattle stealers, for the ground was thickly strewn with the skulls37 and bones of cattle and sheep, but, needless to say, the sight of these was not what had perturbed38 him.
In the centre of the place, slung39 to a thick, stout40 pole whose ends rested on two rocks, was a human figure—what was left of one, that is. It hung horizontally, bound to the pole by wrists and ankles, back downwards41, forming a bow, and underneath42 were the still smouldering ashes of a large fire. The head hung down and the wretched creature was quite dead, but the middle of the body, upon which the fire had played, presented a sight that was indescribably horrible.
This, then, was the “roast” to which those human fiends had made allusion44, decided Greenoak; but why should the poor wretch43 have incurred45 such devilish vengeance46, for the body was that of a native, not that of a white man? Mastering his horror and disgust, Greenoak stepped quickly forward to investigate—and then the mystery stood explained. In the agonised, drawn face of the dead man he recognised that of Mantisa, the Police detective.
Like light the truth was borne in upon his brain. He pieced together everything. The presence of Mafutana and Sikonile with the party supplied the link. They had been lying in wait for himself, and in the darkness had pounced47 upon Mantisa in mistake for himself, nor could it have been long after the former had gone on with the horse. Yet why should they have brought the poor wretch here to put him to such a ghastly death? An assegai or two would have answered all purposes there on the spot. And then a conviction of the real truth came home to Harley Greenoak. They had tortured their prisoner to force him to reveal his own whereabouts, and Mantisa had been unable or unwilling48 to do so. A great wave of pity and admiration49 swept through Greenoak’s heart as he gazed upon the miserable50 mangled51 remains52.
“Poor, plucky53 devil!” he said to himself as he turned away, for the nature of the ground precluded54 any kind of attempt at burial. “Poor, plucky, heroic devil! Well, he’s gone aloft, that’s certain, if any one ever did get there, black or white.”
As he left the place of horror, he wondered what had become of his horse. Had it been captured too? But as against this, he recalled the fact that it was not in the possession of the perpetrators of this atrocity55 what time they passed his hiding-place. Well, he supposed he must give it up as lost, but coming at this juncture56 the loss was serious, for he had intended making a quick round in order to warn as many of the settlers as he could reach.
An hour of further travelling and the bush line would draw to an end in favour of more open country above. Just before reaching this, however, a sound reached him. It was the quick whinny of a horse, the shaking of the saddle-flaps, then a neigh. Of course, to one of Greenoak’s rapid powers of deduction57 this meant a riderless horse. What if it was his—what if it had broken away, while the savages were occupied with their prisoner? A few more minutes and he came in sight of the animal, and—it was his.
But, holding the end of the bridle-rein, was a man, a native—a thick-set, ugly, scrabbly bearded savage15, and armed. Greenoak’s gun was up in a moment, covering the fellow.
But somehow or other, it did not seem to produce the effect he had expected. The ugly face split into a white stripe of grin, and a voice said in excellent English—
“Not shoot, Mr Greenoak. I John Voss.”
Well might Greenoak start. This, then, was the fellow who had been stealthily following him. The make-up was perfect. It happened that normally John Voss was a singularly neat and smart-looking native, with an intelligent face and, for a native, a very respectable beard, of which he was not a little proud. The sacrifice of this latter alone, in order to transform himself into an evil-looking, squalid savage, argued a whole-hearted zeal58 deserving of recognition, and he had certainly succeeded, for himself, to a dangerous degree at that moment.
“Well, John, you’ve had a narrow escape,” said Greenoak. “But that I was afraid the horse would have schreked at the shot and cleared, you’d have been down with a bullet through you at this moment, I believe. Now let’s hear all about it.”
The other told him—how he had followed Mantisa, and witnessed his capture; how in the excitement of that event he had mingled59 with the Kafirs in the darkness, and had ridden away upon the horse when their attention was more fully occupied, intending to wait for its owner at the point where he judged the latter would reappear. Then Greenoak told him of the crossing from Gcalekaland, and the barbarous vengeance which had been taken upon poor Mantisa. It happened that John Voss had not been into the location at all, so had been powerless to warn either of the ambush laid, for the simple reason that he knew nothing of it.
And as they travelled, these two laid their plans as to how best warn the neighbourhood.
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1
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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2
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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auxiliary
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| adj.辅助的，备用的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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hampering
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的现在分词 ) | |
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6
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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7
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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8
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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11
drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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12
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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13
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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14
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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15
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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16
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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17
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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18
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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22
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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23
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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24
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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25
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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26
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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28
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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30
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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31
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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32
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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33
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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34
broil
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| v.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂；n.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂 | |
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35
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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36
beetling
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| adj.突出的，悬垂的v.快速移动( beetle的现在分词 ) | |
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37
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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38
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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41
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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42
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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43
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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44
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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45
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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46
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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47
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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48
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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49
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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50
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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51
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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52
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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53
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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54
precluded
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| v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
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55
atrocity
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| n.残暴，暴行 | |
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56
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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57
deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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58
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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59
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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