(Copyright.) ERIC DACRES:

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 31 July 1914, Page 7

(Copyright.) ERIC DACRES:

Hy Willio m Murray Graydon, '"tl-.<-.r of ;i.;Mdor the White Terror,' 'In the Nii.mo o f the Czar,' Etc., Etc. ~ —-+ — .

A Romantic "Story of Adventure iiunng the flffatabele War.

'PART 4

' And comiiiiv like a whirlwind," said Phil. "Keep low, old man; we don't know* what danger may bo at the heels of the brute." They crouched down by the side of the waggon, rifles held ready. Only a few seconds they waited thus and then a huge grey horse, with dangling bridle and empty saddle, into one end of the clearISJM?- At a rattling gallop the frightened animal bore on, vanishing in the scrub as quickly as it had appeared. Fainter and fainter grew the muffled thud of the hoofs. There was something weird about the incident—the previous firing and clamour, the lonely moonlight night, all tended to make it so—and as Eric and Phil rose up they felt I their blood strangely chilled. They watched the side of the camp whence the horse had come, but nothing alarming was seen or heard—a dead silence brooded on the air. "We are safe for the present," whispered Eric. The Kaffirs have * got the man, and they won't trouble about the horse. Poor fellow ! I wonder who he was ? If we could only avenge him, Phil !" "It's madness to think of that now," Phil answered. "If we are discovered, we 5,1 meet the same fate. It's ehotu,.. to stun a fellow, this n;---'it's work. If the rising is w ■' end and pre-arranged— which I hope it isn't—there will be any amount of bloodshed to be avenged. Think of the English set-, tiers and their wives and children, suddenly put at the mercy of these devilish Matabele ! God help them, I say !" "Yes, God help them !" Eric assented, fervently. "There are v"Vy few troopers or police at hand—that's the worst of it," Phil went on. 'A Kailir outbreak will have nearly as full a swing as the Sepoy Mutiny had in 'fity-seven." He crossed the clearing to- quiet the horses and the two remaining mules, who""ere showing signs of , restlessness ; then he returned, pausing every few steps to listen. "Old man, we must be moving," he said, quickly. "But where?" Eric asked, in surprise. "Si.rely this is the safest place for us just now. If we start off into tH* night, we don't know what danger we shall run foul of— the Kaffirs may be watching the road to Buluwayo or swarming in the jurrounding bush. We had Ic'.ter wait until daylight. The fire is out, and it's net likely the camp will be discovered.'' "How about Mopo ?" Phil interrupted. "By Jove, I forgot him !" Eric sxclaimed. "You don't think he has gone to search for the mules ?" " "I think he took the mules with him," Phil replied. "To tell the truth, I believe Mopo had wind of this trouble, and has deserted ; to the Kaffirs." "And he will lead them to our camp ?" " Yes, if my suspicions are correct." "They are," cried Eric. "I don't •doubt it. Mopo has turned traitor, and we may be hemmed in and attacked at any moment. Come, r— we'll lose no more time. We can't do any thing with-the waggon. We must abandon it and strike with our horses for the bush." > "The bush is the only place for us." agreed Phil. "The road won't be safe." Even as he spoke the oppressive silence of the night was stabbed by a cry of agony or fright—a shrill, long-drawn cry that left a quivering, lingering cadei.:e on the air before all was still again. The voice—which both men recognised instantly—came from the direction of the Lomena river. "That was Mopo !" cried Eric. "I would swear to it." "So would I," exclaimed Phil. "We have misjudged the poor fellow1, after all. He really went in search of the horses, and the prowling Kaffirs have stumbled upon him." Just then a second cry was heard, as lusty and shrill as the first, and apparently a little nearer at hand. "He is either making a fight of it or retreating this way," declared Eric. "We must try to save him." "Yes, it's our duty," cried Phil. "Come along." Not for an instant did they hesitate —not for an instant did they think of the danger they were recklessly going to meet. Theirs was the true English spirit, and honour and duty came before all else. Side by side they leapt across the clearing and plunged into the bush. After going some yards they stopped to listen, but could hear only the loud beating of their own hearts and the murmuring flow of the river. "It looks bad," whispered Phil. "Mopo is dead or is hiding." "Shall we go back ?" Eric asked. "No ; we may as well get to the bottom of the tlyng," was the reply. "Carefully now, my boy." Noiselessly but swiftly they crept forward, eyes and ears on the alert and rifles grasped ready for immediate use. Guided by the sound 9f running water, they advanced

several hundred yards from the camp, steering at an angle towards the Buluwayo road. The continual silence dismayed and disheartened them ; for aught they knew the si-lent-footed Kaffirs might be closing in on them. "It's all up with Mopo, that's sure," whispered Eric. "Hush !" breathed Phil. "What's that ? Did you hear it just now ?" This time both heard it plainly—a pitiful groan, proceeding from some point directly in front. They pushed on with redoubled caution, and crouched low in the shelter of a dense fringe of scrub. Immediately in front of them a patch of vivid moonlight, marked open ground. Eric softly parted the bushes with his hand, and he and Phil were surprised to find themselves looking out on the read ; and huddled in the middle of it, ten feet distant, they saw a dark object lying limp and stiJl. "It's Mopo—we have come too late !" gasped Phil. "He may not be dead," Eric muttered, rising to his feet. " llnwi^. — down !" Phil urged. "Don't dream of venturing out there." "I want to make sure, old man," whispered Eric. "I don't see anything of the Kaffirs ; they have probably pushed on along the road to the river." " I don't believe it," cautioned Phil. "I say don't be reckless." But Eric had already slipped through the bushes, so he reluctantly jumped up and followed his friend. They came at the same moment to where Mopo was lying \n the middle of the road, his distorted face turned up to the silvery moonlight. A glance was enough to showthat the negro was dead, and that his last breath had gone out with the groan that attracted his friends to the spot. Two assegais were driven deep into his breast, and- a third protruded from his back. This evidence of cruel and wanton murder roused a fiery thirst for revenge in the young Englishmen, and as they looked down at Mopo's body—he had been clearly searching for the stray mules when attacked —they realised for the first time what a terrible storm had burst upon the unsuspecting territories of the Chartered Company. /.'Poor, faithful fellow!" Eric whispered, hoarsely. "The murderers shall pay dearly for this." "That they shall," Phil muttered. "But come ; we are fools to expose ourselves here in the open. We must get back to camp at once." A chorus of ferocious yells drowned the rest of the sentence, and from the scrub across the road bounded four half naked Matabele warriors. Three were armed with assegais, which they let drive instantly. The fourth had a levelled rifle. It was too late to retreat. Eric heard the assegais whistle by him, and he escaped as well the bullet fired by the Kailir with the rifle ; but Phil uttered a cry, reeled, and went down. Maddened by the fate of his friend he believed him to be dead—Eric rapidly shot two of the savages. The remaining two Kaffirs were now upon" him, brandishing their longassegais, and he felt that he was lost. CHAPTER VIII. A FRIEND IN NEED. Crack ! One of the two Kaffirs pitched forward in a heap, shot unerringly through the heart. Eric instinctively leapt back a couple of steps, keeping his rifle at his shoulder. Out of the drifting smoke loomed the surviving foe, black and gigantic, holding an assegai poised for immediate cast. It seemed that nothing could save the young Englishman, and even as he realised this in a flash, as he strove to take aim, the sharp report of a revolver rang out behind him. The assegai dropped from the nerveless, hands ; the Kaffir gave one strangled yell, tossed up ( his arms, and fell dead almost at the feet of his intended victim. , "Thank God !" muttered Eric. Drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and he shook himself to make sure that a foot of cold steel and shaft had not entered his body. "A close shave that, partner ! I did it neatly." The voice, loud and husky, reminded Eric of the mystery attaching to the shot that had saved him. He turned round in bewilderment, and shouted with.joy When he discovered that Phil was sitting up and gazing at him. .Looking beyond his friend he saw a man limp slowly from the scrub into the road, a smoking pistol ijj his hand. "It was you who fired ?" Eric demanded. "Yes, partner—a shot on the wing, so to speak." Eric grasped the stranger's hand, and shook it warmly. "God bless you !" he exclaimed ; "you saved my life. How can I thank you ?" "Don't mention it," said the man. "I was 'mighty glad of the chance to pot a Kaffir—only wish I'd been here sooner to join in. What's wrong with your comrade —wounded ?" "I'm afraid so," Eric replied, hoarsely. !He turned and bent over Phil and began to question him eagerly and anxiously. I "Don't worry, old fellow," Phil ! said in a weak voice. "It's nothing serious—only a furrow ploughied by a bullet along one side of my head." "Thank Heaven !" muttered Eric. "I was sure you were dead." "I thought so ruvself." Phil re-

plied, "for the shock knocked me oft' my legs. Where are the Kaffirs '?'" ".Dead —all four," said Eric. He explained in a few words what had happened. "By Jove, how lucky we've be ■•■n! " exclaimed Phil. "Now help me to my feet, old fellow. I'll 1.,e as right as ever in a minute." Without difficulty Eric got his ; up, and was relieved to sec that he could stand alone. lie iiurrk;.ily bound a handkerchief round the ! wound, which was a painful and shallow furrow above the left ear. Meanwhile the stranger had been examining- the dead bodies in the road, and at the same time keeping eyes and ears on the alert for danger. Now he limped back to Eric and Phil, and they regarded him with keen interest. rl he man was tall and heavily built, yellow - bearded, and with rather long and curling- hair of the same colour. He wore the regulation costume of the troopers of the Chartered Company—high boots, flannels, and slouch hat. His hands and face were bleeding from several scratches, and . a bloodstained bandage was wrapped about his left arm above the elbow. "How's your friend ?" he asked, quickly. "Better," Eric replied. "A bullet grazed his head —that's all." "Can he travel ?" "Yes." "Then we must get out of here at once. There's a heap more Kaffirs in the neighbourhood, and it's impossible to tell where they are this minute. Of course they heard the shooting, and they'll be turning up close the next thing." "I'm afraid so," replied Phil. "We have a camp a couple of hundred yards over yonder" "I guessed as much," interrupted the stranger. "And how about horses ?" "Two horses and two mules," Eric answered, "and a waggon." "The waggon's no good," said the man, -'but we'll need the mounts badly. This locality will soon be too hot to hold us. By the way, did you fellows see anything of my own horse '?" "By Jove, so you're the man we thought was murdered !" Phil exclaimed, in surprise. "And it was your horse —a big grey—that dashed through our camp shortly after the firing down the road ?" "Yes_; that was mine. I was knocked out of the saddle the first shot. It's a lucky thing for all of us that we met here. Hist ! what's that ?" He held up a warning finger. "Get to cover, quick !" he added in a sharp whisper. The three darted across the road, and into the bush. Phil had picked up his rifle, and Eric lent him a steadying arm. They halted as soon as they were under cover, and almost at once all heard what the stranger's keen ear had been first to detect—a snapping of twigs, rustling of dried grass, and the sound of voices calling in hard whispers. The noise came from scattered points in the grass and scrub across the road. "Hear the Kaffirs ?" muttered the stranger. "I knew the devils would be prowling about. They'll make it lively for us when they find the bodies. Come along ;. we must get to your camp quickly." Eric and Phil needed no urging. The little party set off at once as swiftly and silently as possible. Eric led the way, judging of the proper direction as well as he could. The bush on this side of the road was quiet, which they took to be a sign that none of the Matabele were in the immediate vicinity. In answer to the stranger's questions, Phil gave a brief and whispered account of himself and Eric, and explained the incidents that led to the fight in the road. "It would have been all up with both of us but for your timely help," he concluded. "And we don't know yet whom to thank. I should say, at a hazard, that you are an American." "Right you are," the man admitted. "I was born in America, and I roughed it most of my life in the West. A year or two ago I came out here and took service with the Chartered Company. I am attached to Gordon's Scouts at Buluwayo and my name is Dan Shurlock." "By Jove, you are Shurlock, the famous scout?" Phil exclaimed. "I've heard of you in the last Matabele war." "I've done my duty, that's all," the scout answered dryly. "How I came in these parts to-night I'll tell you in a few words, since the less talking we do the better. Are we getting near camp, partner, ahead there !" "It can't be much further ; I think we're on the right track," Eric replied, doubtfully. "As T was about to say," Shurj lock resumed in a low voice, " I j was riding north this evening on the road from Tuli, where I've been on a little mission of my own, and with me was a chap named Mostyn. Danger in these times was the last thing we were dreaming of, when a lot of Kaffirs—a score I should reckon —swarmed out from the bush on one side. They let fly at us with 'bullets and assegais—some were armed with rifles. Poor Mostyn and his horse went, down together, and- I saw the black devils cluster round them. "1 was a little ahead of my partner, and when a bullet gave me a flesh wound here" —patting his arm — -"I sort of lost my grip, and pitched out of the saddle. I was a bit bruised, and my arm pained me, but. T managed to roll into the thick grass at the side of the road. The Kullirs didn't miss me just at once,

ami so i got to my feet and struck oiT ;!iro''.;-;-h t"he bush i-i the direction my frightened horr-.c took. You know tie re.'-.t —how 1 turned v.p in lime fur a pistol-.shot. J lost my rillo 'when 1 went oil the horse." ''Vi/ii'\o had a wor.se time of it than ourselves," said Phil, "and we can nvvor thank you enough for what you did —for that timely shot. T;ut what does all tho .trouble mean? •s it i-t'ully a Matabele rising?" "Ay, that it is," Shurlock answered, bitterly—"a rising without warning, without a sign to foretell it. You saw the fires blazing to-night over on tho horizon ? Well, it means that the Kaflirs are up all over the country—killing, plundering, and burning. I knew it would come some time, but I didn't look for it ; now. God help the scattered settlers ! I-fear but few of them will get to the towns and forts. And as for ourselves" j The sentence was never finished, | for just then the night rang with | shrill and ferocious cries. They 1 came from the rear, and mearft plain|ly that the Kaflirs had found the bodies of their friends. The fugitives, well aware of their lessened I chances, hurried on faster and with less caution. Behind them the clamour seemed to spread a little, and then it gradually died into silence. "We've no time to lose," said Shuitock. "The quiet means that the cunning devils have picked up our trail, or are searching for it hotly. At the least, they'll soon be swarming through the bush this side of the road." "Do you think so ?" Phil asked. "I'm sure of it, partner. Where's that camp—is it far yet ?" "I—l don't know," Eric replied, glancing over his shoulder at his companions. "We should have been there before this—it looks as though we had missed the way." **- "We must find it, and quickly," the scout said, -grimly. "Listen for the river," added Phil. "That will guide us." But the sound of running water, which was distinctly audible, did no more than satisfy the fugitives that they were heading in the right direction generally. They pushed on through the thick and. dimly-lit bush making short detours to right and left. All in vain ! They could not find the camp, and now they began to hear strange noises that might have been merely the result of vivid imaginations, and yet more likely meant the stealthy approach of the dreaded Kaflirs. "I'm at my wits end to know which way to turn," whispered Eric. "It looks black." ! "Mighty black," assented Shurlock. "Some of these days, partners, we'll be found lying hereabouts stuck full of assegais. Hullo ! I smell the dead reek of a fire." "So do I," declared Phil, sniffing the air. At that instant a horse whinnied close to the left, and with thankful hearts the fugitives turned and darted in the indicated direction. A dozen strides brought them to the edge of tho clearing, and they saw the horses and the mules standing quietly in the moonlight. But what was that by the black embers of the fire ? A half-naked Matabele, assegai in hand, peering doubtfully at the hooded waggon ! Hearing a rustling footstep, the savage turned like a flash. With a lusty yell, he bounded to the opposite end of tho clearing. Crack! bang ! Shurlock's pistol and Eric's rifle spoke almost together, but, owing to their haste and the uncertain light, they missed. As the startled Kattir vanished in the scrub he yelled again and again, and instantly the alarm was caught up by his alertful friends : and it showed how near the Mat ibele had been creeping all the while. Seemingly from every quarter of the surrounding bush voice called clamorously to voice and n iked feet made a humming glide in the grass. The merciless black trackers were unerringly closing about the camp. "Mount —mount for your lives!" shouted the scout. "If we delay a minute we are lost. We must head for the north-east." As he spoke he untied the horses and one of the two mules and swung . himself bareback upon the latter. A glance at Phil's pallid face and swaying form made Eric hesitate a second. Then he darted over to the waggon and returned with a flask of brandy, which he uncorked in mad haste and put it to his friend's lips. "How's that ?" he cried. "How do you feel ?" "Better —it's just put new life into me," Phil gasped, chokingly ; and to prove his words he vaulted into the saddle of one of the horses. "Come on, Eric," he urged. "Hurry up !" yelled the ssout. "Don't you hear the black devils?" "Yes—l'm coming," Eric panted. He had one foot in the stirrup, : when two Kaflirs burst into the 1 rear end of tho camp.. He levelled his rifle and fired, bringing down ; the foremost. An assegai whizzed by him, and he heard Shurlock and Phil shooting right and left. He ! turned again to his frightened steed | —he nearly lost the animal—and by . a nimble spring gained the saddle. I "On—on !" he cried. I Barely in time- !As the three j rode at a gallop out of the clear- ! ing and into the scrub black forms bobbed up here and there, screeching like fiends. Assegais hurtled and whistled, and a few rifles cracked. I But by God's mercy not a weapon or bullet touched steeds or riders, and their rapid pace soon carried the fugitives into lower

and more open bush. On and cm they rode, heading1 to the north-east, and leaving the battled Matabele far behind. A mile grew to two, to three, and then they ventured to draw rein. \ CHAPTER IX. ! A BAD SCRAPE. !„ The night had now settled down .to a state of unbroken quiet, and not a glimmer remained of the fires that had a short time before been tilazing luridly on the horizon. But the scout and his companions were not deceived as to the real nature of the storm that had burst over Matabeleland. The horror of what j they had seen and passed through | was still upon them, and as they rode .on through the bush their minds pictured the bloody deeds that were likely taking place in remote parts of the country, the scat- • tered bands of savag.es pouring from their kraals, the surprised settlors fighting for their lives or fleeing to the' nearest towns, stores, and forts. They were soon to learn I that they did not exaggerate the situation. Dan Shurlock made light of his flesh wound, though the free use he employed of that arm must have given him considerable pain. His training in the wilds of Western America proved valuable at this time. He needed no saddle, and held his seat on the mule with ease and skill. He had improvised a rude sort of a bridle, and had the hitherto fractious animal under perfect control. Phil bore up pluckily, but admitted that he had a thumping headache. However, the night air and small doses of brandy eased him somewhat and when Eric bathed and dressed the wound at a wayside stream, he declared he could keep in the saddle for hours. They rode on in the same aimless direction for half a dozen miles, keenly on the alert for danger while they talked of their narrow escape and discussed their future plans. And that they were environed by perils they could not doubt. Within an hour after their flight they began to hear straggling shots fired far ofl and in different directions; the meaning of which they could only conjecture. Presently they emerged from the bush, and saw before them in the moonlight- a rugged and narrow road —more of a cattle track than anything else, though it had clearly been used by waggons and horses. They cautiously followed this for a few yards, and then came to where ! two branches forked right and left. Here Shurlock gave the word to halt. "Do you know* where we are ?" Phil asked. "I reckon I do, partners," the scout replied. "And what are we going to do next ?" Eric inquired. "Well, it's this way," said Shurlock. "Three of us can't expect to be of much help hereabouts—the settlers likely know what's up by now—and so in fetching you off from the main road, which would be dangerous to travel, I counted on our swinging round towards Buluwayo when we had covered a safe distance. That's the way I've be'en reasoning." "We couldn't-have a better adviser," remarked Eric. The scout nodded his appreciation of this compliment. "We won't be safe till we get into the town," he resumed, "and we won't find it easy to get there by any route, seeing the country is probably full of Kaflirs. But Buluwayo is the objective point, and this track here"—indicating the left-hand fork—"leads north-west towards it." "That's our road, then," replied Phil. "We must take the chances with the Matabele." "As you say," the scout answered; "but I've got another thing in mind that's just come to me. It's this, partners. Do you see yonder fork branching north-west on the right ? Well, that leads on for a couple of miles to a station of native police under Sub-inspector Jenkin, and five miles beyond that a friend of mine named Carter has a cattle farm. Of course, he may have been killed already" "It's only too likely," interrupted Eric. "And the police as well," Phil added. "They would be about the first persons sought for by the Kaffirs. But what do you suggest ?" "That we go to the station," the scout replied, "get the police to join us if they are alive, and then ride on to Carter's place. If we find signs of danger, we'll swing | round and head straight for Buluj wayo. What do you say, partners ?" "AVe're with you," assented Eric. j"A chance of saving life comes ibeI fore everything else." "Yes, we'll go gladly," said Phil. "You're a pair of good chaps," ! the scout answered, gratefully, "and j I shan't forget this. You see, I | take it as a sort of a personal matter, Carter being a friend. Now, < then, we'll be off," he added. "Watch sharp, and make as little noise as possible." i At a trot they swung into the right-hand fork, Shurlock leading the way, and his companions riding just behind him. Their weapons 1 were loaded and ready for use, but for nearly a mile of the narrow and winding road they did not see or hear anything alarming. Then they suddenly detected voices, and a little later they emerged in full view of th^ police-station. \ (To be Continued.) Many a lash in the dark doth conscience give the wicked. —Bostow, '