Part 29 (2/2)

”Quick, some of you cut loose those mules,” ordered Lamont. ”Steele, you're a good man at that sort of thing. Three, all told, will be enough.”

In a trice the two wounded leaders were cut loose, the one still kicking being given its quietus. Wyndham, the while, kept to his business as driver with an unswerving attention that no temptation to bear a hand in the fight caused him to lose sight of for a moment, and in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time the reduced team was on the move again.

Lamont's glance took in Clare Vidal's pale, set face with a glow of indescribable relief. She was uninjured, and he noted further that she gripped the revolver he had given her as though she had been using it.

She, for her part, was fully appraising this man, whom last she had seen cool, indifferent, rather cynical. Now--grimy, unshaven, fierce-eyed-- he was all fire and energy, and she noted further that he seemed in every way as one born to command. The alacrity with which the others sprang to execute his orders did not escape her either--even Jim Steele, whose ambition the other day had been to punch his head.

”Get your mules along as quick as you can, Wyndham,” he said. ”We must be a good hour from the Kezane, and when these devils discover we are not the advance guard of a bigger force they'll make it lively for us again.”

One more quick look, and that was all, then his attention was turned solely and entirely to the matter in hand. Clare Vidal read that look, and was perchance satisfied; anyhow she regarded him--grimy, unshaven, fierce-eyed--with an admiration she had never felt for any living man.

The 'coward'! she said to herself--the man whom her brother-in-law and others had described as a funkstick.

”See here, Lamont,” now sung out Fullerton. ”I'm going to get on one of those police horses and help in this racket. I'm dead sick of sitting here.”

For two of the horses of the fallen troopers had been brought on and were being led by the survivors.

”All right. There'll be no harm in that. Miss Vidal, you'd better get into the back of the waggon and let down the sail. We haven't done with the enemy yet--and you won't be such a conspicuous mark when he comes on again.”

For a moment Clare was about to object. But she said--

”Do you really wish me to?”

”Certainly I do.”

Then she complied without another word.

”Cheer up, Lucy, we are safe now,” she said to her sister. ”Mr Lamont has come up just in the nick of time.”

”The nick of time indeed,” was the shuddering answer. ”If he hadn't we should have been dead by now.” And she s.h.i.+vered again.

”A miss is as good as a mile, Mrs Fullerton,” said Wyndham cheerily.

”That was a near thing, but our time hasn't come yet. Gee-yup!”

He had managed to knock a sort of jaded amble out of the dispirited mules. The relieving force, divided into two, was advancing through the bush and long gra.s.s on either side of the waggon--in open skirmis.h.i.+ng order: Peters, by tacit consent, being in virtual command of one. Every man was keenly on the alert, and the faintest movement in the gra.s.s or bush would bring rifle or pistol to the ready.

”Lamont,” said Fullerton gravely, as they thus moved forward, ”I don't want to go through such another experience. That's the very closest thing I've ever been in or ever expect to be. It'd have been bad enough, but the consciousness that the wife and Clare were in for it too--eugh! it was awful! And _you_ got us out.”

Lamont frowned.

”You'll excuse my saying so, Fullerton, but how you could be such a bedevilled idiot as to start across country at this time of day, with two helpless women and a handful of police, bangs me I own.”

”Helpless women!” echoed Fullerton. ”Not much of the 'helpless' woman about Clare, I can tell you. Why, she accounted for more n.i.g.g.e.rs than I did, with that pistol you gave her. But why didn't you warn us if you were in the know?”

”I did, and n.o.body more than half believed me--some not even that.”

”I know now what you did on the day of the race meeting, Lamont,” said Fullerton gravely. ”I consider we all owe our lives to you, and I, for one, want to apologise sincerely for having misunderstood you--”

But his words were cut short. Lamont had risen in his stirrups and, swift as thought, discharged his revolver. Fullerton had a quick glancing vision of the head and shoulders of a savage twenty yards distant above the tall gra.s.s, and of the flinging aloft of black hands, and the upturned roll of white eyeb.a.l.l.s, as, struck full and fair in the chest, the warrior fell backward with a crash. At the same time the hum of missiles overhead, and the report of firearms--but--not those of the force.

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