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A Dash from Diamond City, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 33. That Base Coin |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. THAT BASE COIN "Let's see; this will take us round by the hospital wagons," said Ingleborough. "I vote we go round the other way, for we don't want any more horrors now!" They chose a different direction to return to their temporary quarters in the camp, one which took them round by the row upon row of captured wagons and the roughly-made enclosure into which the prisoners had now been herded, and where they were doubly guarded by a strong party of mounted infantry, who had stringent orders to fire at the slightest sign of trying to escape. "They'll accept their lot now, I expect," said Ingleborough. "Who are these with this next lot of wagons? Non-combatants, I suppose!" "Yes; drivers of the provision wagons and traders," replied West. "Why, that's the man we saw going up out of the spruit." "Yes," said Ingleborough, and as he spoke West noted that the man who had been seated at the front of one of the wagons suddenly turned his back and walked round to the other side. West turned to Ingleborough. Ingleborough turned to West. They stood looking enquiringly in each other's eyes for a few moments before the latter said suddenly: "Which way will you go?" "Left," said Ingleborough. "And I'll go right." They started at once, walking towards the wagon that had taken their attention, Ingleborough making for the front where the man had disappeared, and which necessitated passing the team of bullocks crouching down to ruminate over the fodder that had been cut for them, while West hurried round by the rear, the young men timing themselves so exactly that they met after seeing a pair of stout legs disappear between the fore and hind wheels of the wagon where the man they sought to face had dived under. Quick as thought, West and Ingleborough separated and ran back lightly and quickly, this time to come upon the man they sought just as he was getting heavily upon his legs again, evidently in the belief that he had not been recognised. He was thoroughly roused up to his position, though, by Ingleborough's heavy hand coming down upon his shoulder and hoisting him round to face the pair. "Hallo, Anson!" cried Ingleborough banteringly; "this is a pleasant surprise!" while West's eyes flashed as he literally glared in the cowardly scoundrel's face, which underwent a curious change as he glanced from one to the other, his fat heavy features lending themselves to the dissimulation, as he growled out slowly: "Don't understand." "What!" cried Ingleborough, in the same bantering tone; "don't you know this gentleman--Mr Oliver West?" "Don't understand!" was the reply, and directly after: "Goodnight, Englishmen; I'm going to sleep!" The next moment the heavy-looking fellow had turned his back again, stepped to the front part of the wagon, and sprawled over part of the wood-work as he tried to draw himself on to the chest before getting inside. But Ingleborough was a strong man, and he proved it, for, stepping behind the man, he caught him by the collar of his jacket and the loose part of his knicker-bocker-like breeches, and dragged him off the wagon, to plant him down in front of West. The result was that their prisoner began to rage out abusive words in Dutch, so loudly that in the exasperation he felt, Ingleborough raised his right foot and delivered four kicks with appalling vigour and rapidity--appalling to the receiver, who uttered a series of yells for help in sound honest English, struggling the while to escape, but with his progress barred by West, who closed up and seized him by the arm. The outcry had its effect, for the called-for help arrived, in the shape of a sergeant and half-a-dozen men, who came up at the double with fixed bayonets. "What's all this?" cried the sergeant sharply, as he surrounded the party. "Only a miracle!" cried Ingleborough. "This so-called Boer, who could not speak a word of English, has found his tongue." "What are you, prisoner--a Boer?" cried the sergeant. "Ah, yah, yah," was the reply, gutturally given; "Piet Retif, Boer." "Well, sir, orders are that the Boer prisoners are not to be ill-used," said the sergeant. Then, turning to the prisoner: "This your wagon and span?" "Ah, yah, yah, Piet Retif." "He says Yah, yah, sir," said the sergeant, "which means it is his wagon." "Oh yes, it is his, I believe," said Ingleborough. "Then what have you against him?" "Only that he's a renegade Englishman, a man who deserted from Kimberley to the Boers." "It's a lie, sergeant," cried the man excitedly. "That's good English," cried Ingleborough. "I told you I had worked a miracle; now perhaps I can make him say a little more. He's an illicit-diamond merchant and cheat as well, and his name is not Piet Retif, but James Anson, late clerk to the Kimberley Company. What do you say, West?" "The same as you," replied West. "It is a lie!" cried the man. "Piet Retif, dealer in mealies and corn." "Mealies and corn!" cried Ingleborough scornfully. "The man is what I say: an utter scoundrel, cheat, and, worse than all, a renegade and deserter to the Boers." Anson's jaw dropped, and his face seemed to turn from a warm pink to green. _ |
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