Part 18 (2/2)

”And boots are scarce in this show,” rejoined the other tentatively.

”When a man gets used to wearing a certain pair he's not likely to discard them in a hurry. I'll bet that is von Gobendorff's trail.”

”And the other?” asked Dudley.

”A n.i.g.g.e.r might be wearing veldt-schoen,” suggested another Rhodesian.

”Perhaps he looted them, and in his natural vanity, decided to put them on instead of slinging them round his neck. In my experience I find that a native 'boy' will wear veldt-schoen, but he'll draw the line at boots.”

”In any case,” remarked Wilmshurst, ”the two spoors lead the same way, so we'll carry on.”

Half a mile further the tracks separated, the older ones continuing straight on, those of the boots breaking away to the left.

After a brief debate the pursuers decided to follow the latter spoor.

This they followed for another four miles until it vanished on an expanse of hard, sun-baked ground.

”We're close to the Kiwa,” announced one of the patrol, who had pushed on ahead for fifty yards. ”There's a kraal over yonder, and I can see the water between the trees.”

Into the native village the pursuers rode, to hear a tale of woe from the headman. An armed German had pa.s.sed through not an hour previously. He had demanded food and native beer; he had made no attempt to pay for the articles, and out of sheer mischief had set fire to a hut. Commandeering a canoe he had compelled the natives to ferry him across the river, and the four blacks who manned the craft had just returned with the news that he had gone into the bush.

”What was the German like?” asked a Rhodesian, who spoke the language of the natives with the utmost fluency.

The headman began to give an elaborate and detailed description, but it was soon evident that the pursuers were on the wrong track.

”Dash it all!” exclaimed Wilmshurst impetuously. ”We've lost the fellow--what's that, Bela Mos.h.i.+?”

”Go ober dem water one-time quick, sah; den you catch Bosh-bosh as him go for run away.”

”That's a smart idea,” declared Dudley, never backward in giving credit for other persons' ideas.

”Quite good,” agreed the section commander of the patrol. ”Over we go; the horses will have to swim.”

Borrowing a couple of canoes the pursuers stepped into the c.u.mbersome craft, four men in each had their loaded rifles ready to fire at any hippos that might attack the horses; the others, grasping the reins of the well-trained animals, guided them across.

The pa.s.sage of the Kiwa--which was here about one hundred and twenty yards in breadth--was performed without mishap, in spite of the fact that the current ran at a speed of two knots, for the spot where the crossing was effected was two miles below the rapids that had all but claimed von Gobendorff as a victim.

Just as the second canoe was running aground one of the natives uttered a cry of surprise, and pointed to a water-logged dug-out drifting broadside on down stream. It was a prize well worth having, and without waiting to put Wilmshurst and the rest of the pa.s.sengers ash.o.r.e the blacks paddled out and secured the derelict.

”Golly, sah!” exclaimed the Haussa sergeant. ”Him canoe have one-time man alive. Now him dead as mutton.”

Lying on the bottom of the canoe with his head raised above the water was a native. As the rescuing craft ran alongside the man opened his eyes.

The call of humanity having a prior claim to the importance of the pursuit Wilmshurst and the Rhodesians rendered all the aid in their power to revive the badly-wounded man. Examination showed that he had been shot at close range by a small-bore high velocity bullet. The missile had sc.r.a.ped his right ear, and entering at the shoulder had emerged just above the third rib. It was a nasty wound, but with ordinary attention it ought not to prove fatal.

Finding that he was being well treated the injured man recovered sufficiently to explain what had occurred. There was no mistaking the description of his a.s.sailant--also another crime had been added to the list against Ulrich von Gobendorff, that of attempted murder.

”So the blighter is making for Twas.h.i.+,” remarked Wilmshurst, consulting his field service map. ”That's well up in the Karewenda Hills. We may head him off even yet.”

Mounting, the patrol, their energies quickened by the evidence of this latest Hunnish atrocity, set off at a gallop across the comparatively open country betwixt the Kiwa and the base of the Karewenda Hills. Woe betide von Gobendorff should he be spotted by one of the lynx-eyed Rhodesians.

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