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A Dash from Diamond City, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 37. Rough Work |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. ROUGH WORK It was the sound of a deep breath which put an end to West's slumber, and he opened his eyes to lie staring at two more, big, brown, soft, and peaceful-looking, not a foot away from his own. It was some moments before full wakefulness came and he realised where he was, and that it was his pony, well-fed and rested, mutely asking him whether he was not going to mount and ride off again. It was then that the thought of danger asserted itself, and he raised his head and looked sharply around, to see that they were amongst stones and bushes where; the bank went precipitously down to a beautiful winding river flowing amongst abundant verdure. Close by him lay Ingleborough, still fast asleep, and beyond him the other pony, still cropping away at the rich green growth which sprang up among the stones. Then, as far as he could see, West made out nothing but the beauty of the spot upon which they had stumbled in the darkness of the night. He rose to his knees stiffly enough, and was in the act of getting upon his feet, realising that the beautiful greenery formed a riband on either side of the river, beyond which was the open veldt, when he dropped down again to reach out and grasp Ingleborough's shoulder, for in his rapid glance he had caught sight of a party of mounted men out in the full sunshine about half-a-mile away. They were walking their horses, and it seemed for certain to be the whole or a portion of the enemy of the previous day, for he recalled, what had not struck him at the time, that one of the Boers was mounted upon a grey horse, and one of the others he could see from where he watched was similarly mounted. "Plenty of grey horses about, of course!" he muttered; "but this seems to be the one I saw yesterday." "What's the matter?" said Ingleborough. "Hist! Keep quiet!" replied West. "The Boers are upon us! Look!" Ingleborough rose cautiously, took a long earnest look through his glass, and put it back. "Yes, there they are," he said coolly; "there's that chap again on the white pony. Good job we didn't try to ford the river in the darkness. Why, we should have been swept away." West glanced for a moment in the direction of the stream, and grasped the truth of his companion's words, before scanning their position and taking it in at once. "We can't get over yonder," he said quickly. "No," replied Ingleborough. "That cuts two ways. Neither can they attack us from that quarter; so our rear is safe." "We shall not be able to escape north," continued West. "No; we are shut in there." "Nor yet south, for they would pick us off easily before we could get through the rough ground to gallop away." "Quite right, lad; and they are advancing on our front. Noll, my boy, there is only one thing to be done." "What is that?" "Turn that patch of rocks there into our fort, and hold out till they've shot us down, or we've shot them, or they've made us surrender." "What about provisions?" "Plenty of water," said Ingleborough coolly, nodding towards the river. "We're nearly famished now." "Yes, lad! I certainly feel as if I could peck a bit of something if I had the chance. But come, there's no time for talking. There's a ready-made fort for us, and the next thing is to get the ponies into cover. I say, I was right! I knew that the enemy would stick doggedly to our trail till they ran us down." "Look here!" cried West: "I'm going to crawl to those rocks and try and cover you while you follow with the ponies." "No need," replied Ingleborough; "the poor things have eaten till they can eat no more, and they'll follow us right enough. Let's try and get under cover before we are seen." West hesitated for a moment, for the thought arose that the Boer party might ride away and try to find a ford, but a glance showed him that in the brief period which had passed since he awoke and saw them the enemy were much nearer, and, following his companion's example, he began to crawl on all-fours towards the clump of rocks pointed out, the horses quietly following them. They had about fifty yards to go through a cover of bushes and lumps of rugged stone, but before they were half-way there West cried impatiently: "I don't like it; the Boers must see the horses directly. Let's mount and make a dash for it." "Very well!" replied Ingleborough quietly. "Perhaps it would be best!" "Then as soon as you are up we must ride towards them till we are clear of these bushes, and then off we go to the right." "Good; but it must be sharp work, for of course they will see us the moment we are up!" answered Ingleborough. "We must risk it, Ingle," said West. "We never could keep them at bay. Let's have action: it would be horrible to be lying behind a rock with the sun beating down upon us. Now then, get hold of your rein!" There was a few moments' pause while the pair crept alongside of their ponies. Then West drew a deep breath and cried: "Mount!" As he uttered the word he glanced over his pony's back at the advancing enemy, and saw that they had caught sight of the two animals, halted, and were in the act of taking aim at them. But neither West nor Ingleborough paused, raising a foot to the stirrup and being in the act of springing up, when the reports of about a dozen rifles rang out, and West's rein was jerked out of his hand as he was thrown upon his back, while his pony made a series of tremendous bounds, the last of which took it into the river with a plunge of about a dozen feet right into a deep pool. The water splashed on high, glittering in the sunshine, and the next minute the unfortunate beast was floating slowly away towards the swift current, just feebly pawing at the water, and on raising its head it fell again with a heavy splash. "They can shoot well!" said Ingleborough coolly. West turned his gaze from the dying pony, irritated beyond measure by his companion's easy-going coolness, and then saw the full extent of their trouble, for Ingleborough's pony had sunk upon its knees and then lain gently over upon its side, to die instantly without a struggle, one of the Boers' bullets having passed right through its brain. "Might have been worse!" continued Ingleborough. "They did not hit us! Come along, lad! They can't see us now. Follow me, and let's creep to the fort. Keep down, lad; keep down." West had involuntarily dropped on all-fours as Ingleborough spoke, and none too soon, for another dozen bullets came rattling over them, cutting the twigs and spattering amongst the rocks, while several passed close to them with a buzzing sound. "There!" cried Ingleborough the next minute. "No question now about what we're going to do. Here's our fort; there's plenty of water; and the Boers have shot our provisions ready for us. We must cut some of the meat up for biltong, and eat as much as we can while the rest of it is fresh." "For heaven's sake don't talk of eating!" cried West. "Look here: let's creep along through the cover and try and get away." "On foot, followed by mounted men? No good; we should be pumped out in less than a couple of hours!" "Then let's make the brutes pay dearly for what they've done!" cried West angrily. "Now Ingle, let's prove to them that we can use our rifles too! I'm going to shoot every horse I can." "Very well: so am I; and if that does not beat them off I'm going to bring down man after man till the rest of them run for their lives. Got a good place?" "Yes," said West, whose rifle-barrel rested in a crack between two stones. "Then fire away; but don't waste a shot!" "Trust me!" cried West grimly. "Now then, fire; and remember the despatch!" He took careful aim as he spoke, and drew trigger, with the result that one of the Boer ponies stopped short, spun round, flung its rider, and galloped madly away. The next moment Ingleborough's rifle cracked, and a second pony began to walk on three legs, while the party opened out, galloping so as to form a half-circle about their enemies, the two ends resting on the river bank and forming a radius of about three hundred yards. "Sixteen more ponies to bring down," said Ingleborough; "and those two dismounted men will take cover and begin to stalk us." "That's what the whole party will do!" said West bitterly. "We shall hit no more ponies: they'll get them all into cover, and then come creeping nearer and nearer." At that moment Ingleborough fired again right in front where one of the Boers dismounted among some trees. "There's one more though," said Ingleborough, for the poor brute he had fired at reared up and then fell, to lie kicking on its flank. "Try for another yourself, lad!" Before he had finished speaking West had fired again, and another pony was hit, to come tearing towards them, dragging its dismounted rider after it, for the man clung to the reins till he was jerked off his feet and drawn along the ground some fifty yards, when his head came in contact with a stone, and he lay insensible, his pony galloping for another hundred yards and then falling, paralysed in its hindquarters. And now the Boers' bullets began to rattle about the stones which protected the hidden pair, keeping them lying close and only able to fire now and then; but they got chances which they did not miss of bringing down, killing, or disabling five more of the enemy's ponies, which upon being left alone began to graze, and naturally exposed themselves. Maddened by their losses and inability to see their foes, the Boers kept reducing the distance, creeping from stone to bush and from bush to stone, rendering the defenders' position minute by minute one of greater peril. But the danger did not trouble West. It only increased the excitement from which he suffered, and, with his eyes flashing in his eagerness, he kept on showing the Boers where he lay by firing at every opportunity, religiously keeping his aim for the ponies, in the full belief that before long the Boers would retire. "It's no good to play that game!" cried Ingleborough suddenly, and he made a quick movement, turning a little to his right and firing. There was a hoarse yell, and a man sprang up not above a hundred yards away, dropped his rifle, and turning round he began to stagger away. "You are firing at the Boers, Ingle," cried West excitedly. "Yes: it was time!" growled Ingleborough, through his teeth, with his voice sounding hoarse and strange. "I've hit three. Two haven't moved." "What's the matter?" asked West, in a tone of anxiety, for he felt that something serious had happened to his comrade. "Don't talk," growled Ingleborough angrily. "Look! Those two. Fire!" Two of the Boers away to West's left front had suddenly sprung up, and bending low were running towards him, evidently making for a patch of bush, out of which a mass of grey stone peered, not a hundred yards from the young men's shelter. Feeling now that it was life for life, West glanced along the barrel of his rifle, waiting till the Boers had nearly reached their goal, and then, just as the second dashed close behind his leader, West drew trigger, shivering the next moment, for as the smoke rose he saw one of the men lying upon his face and the other crawling back on all-fours. "Good shot!" said Ingleborough hoarsely, and then he uttered a deep groan. "Ingle, old fellow, what is it?" cried West. The only answer he obtained was from his comrade's piece, for the latter fired again, and another Boer sprang into sight not a hundred yards away, fell upon his knees, and then rolled over. "Ingle, old fellow," cried West; "don't say you're hurt!" "Oh!" groaned Ingleborough. "Wasn't going to, old man; but that last brute got me." "Hurt much?" "Much? It's like red-hot iron through me. Oh, if I only had some water!" "Water?" cried West, springing up. "Yes; I'll get some." _Crack, crack, crack_! Half-a-dozen rifles rang out in different directions, and in an instant West suffered for his thoughtless unselfish act, for he felt as if someone had struck him a cruel blow with a sjambok across the face from the front, while someone else had driven the butt of his rifle with all his force full upon his shoulder-blade--this blow from the back driving him forward upon his knees and then causing him to fall across Ingleborough. Then for a few moments everything seemed as a blank. "Hurt much?" came the next minute, as if from a distance. "Hurt? No!" said West huskily, and he made an effort and rose to his knees. Then, stung to rage by an agonising pain which stiffened him into action, he levelled his rifle once more, took a quick aim at a couple of the Boers who were running towards them in a stooping position, fired, and distinctly saw one of the two drop to the ground. The next moment someone fired over his shoulder, and the other went down, just as West's rifle dropped from his hand and he fell over sideways, yielding to a horribly sickening sensation, followed by a half-dreamy fancy that someone had felt for and got hold of his hand, to grip it in a way that was at first terribly painful--a pang seeming to run up from hand to shoulder. The pain appeared to grow worse and worse, then deadened, and came again, and so on, like spasms of agony, while all the time the firing went on from all around. "Poor old Ingle!" was about his last clear thought; "they've killed him, and now they're firing till they've quite frightened me! Oh, how they keep on shooting! Get it over, you cowardly brutes--nearly a score of you against two! Oh!" he groaned then: "if I could only have delivered my despatch!" His left hand was raised painfully to his breast to feel whether the paper was still safe; but the pain of the effort was sickening, and his hand glided over something wet and warm and sticky. "Poor old Ingle! Blood!" flashed through his brain, as the rifle reports rang out from very close now, and then all was blank. The end of everything seemed to have come. _ |
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