Part 9

All at once Bill halted and bent towards the ground. There were the unmistakable pug marks. Following the track with his eyes, but without moving from the spot, after a few moments he stretched out his spear towards a clump of trees about a hundred yards ahead, whispering, "Simba!" Neither John nor Ferrier could at first distinguish the lion, but presently two lionesses sprang out of the undergrowth, and made off with long low bounds across the plain. For a moment the white men watched their graceful movements with admiration, forgetting that these were the pests they had come out to slay. Then they set off in pursuit. But they had not advanced three paces when a huge black-maned lion showed his head among the bushes, snarling angrily. He stared at the strangers for a moment or two, then turned with another growl and trotted after his mates.

"Come along," said John excitedly. "We can't get a fair shot at him yet."

They set off at a run, not troubling about Bill or Said Mohammed, who followed at a discreet distance. They gained on the beast, but after running some three hundred yards found themselves rather short of wind, owing to the fact that they were in rarefied air at least 6000 feet above sea-level.

"We shall spoil our aim if we get puffed," said Ferrier. "Better go slow."

At this moment, however, the lion halted behind a tree, as if to check the pursuit of the lionesses, and stood watching the huntsmen, growling in a very threatening way. He seemed disinclined to budge, so John lay down on the path, and bringing his rifle to his shoulder, covered the huge head.

"Confound it, look how my hand wobbles," he whispered to Ferrier. "I can't fix the sight on him. Be ready to shoot if I miss or just sting him, for he'll fly at us like the wind."

He steadied his arm and pulled the trigger. The fierce head instantly dropped out of sight, and the air was filled with such appalling roars that John hastily fired the second barrel, in the hope of finishing the beast before he could charge. He had to aim by guess-work, and fired half-a-dozen shots before the roaring ceased.

"Now the others," cried John, shouting to the Wanderobbo to keep his eye on the spot.

He ran forward with Ferrier towards the lionesses, which had halted a quarter of a mile away, and could just be seen above the grass. At the men's approach they cantered off, and though the chase was kept up for nearly a mile, they always got to cover before the pursuers came within effective range, and finally disappeared among a large patch of reeds by the river, whence it was hopeless to attempt to dislodge them.

"Better luck next time," said John, as they retraced their steps. "You shall have first shot, Charley."

Returning towards the spot where the lion had been shot, they found that Bill had deserted his post. He was standing in the middle of the path with Said Mohammed, a good hundred yards away from any bushes or trees. The natives were chattering at a little distance.

"Why didn't you do as I told you?" cried John, vexed at the possibility of having lost his quarry.

"Conscience made a coward of him, I fear, sir," said Said Mohammed.

"Well, go and see if you can find the lion. Get the natives to help. I don't know which tree it was we shot him at," he added to Ferrier, "but I'm not going back without his head."

The party split up and made a systematic search, the natives beating the bush and long grass thoroughly with their spears. At last one of them shouted that he had found the simba, instantly running away from the spot at the top of his speed. There was no growling to be heard, however, so plucking up his courage he returned to the place with his comrades. When John reached them, he found the men grouped a yard or two from the lion's tail, jabbering in much excitement. The beast was stretched on his side, but John was surprised to see by the heaving of his flanks that he was not yet dead. Judging that the chatter of the men would have roused him if he had been able to rise, John went towards his head, but the moment the lion caught sight of him he uttered a terrible roar and to John's amazement sprang to his feet. Stepping hastily backward, John stumbled against Said Mohammed, who, believing like every one else that the beast was helpless, had become bold. The Bengali went down like a ninepin. John recovered his footing with an effort, and raising his rifle, fired at the lion at a range of four yards; but he was too hurried and agitated to take a careful aim, and the shot merely had the effect of throwing the infuriated animal on his haunches as he prepared to spring.

All this had happened so quickly that Ferrier, who had been beating the bush in the opposite direction from John, had not yet come up. The sudden flight of the villagers apprised him that something was wrong, and as he hurried to the spot he was horrified at the sight that met his gaze. Man and beast seemed only a yard apart. He dared not shoot for fear of hitting John, and seeing that the shot had but momentarily checked the animal, he had given up his friend for lost when, as by a miracle, a sudden diversion occurred. The lion was leaping on John, who fired his second barrel with shaking hand and missed, when Said Mohammed scrambled to his feet and flew down the path, shrieking at the top of his voice. As if supposing that this white-clad yelling creature was his worst enemy, the lion changed the direction of his spring, almost grazing John as he fell, and bounded off after the Bengali, with such enormous leaps that escape seemed impossible. John hastily reloaded and fired, but he was trembling from head to foot; a mist seemed to rise before his eyes; and his shot went very wide of the mark. By the time Ferrier reached his side the chase seemed over; they thought that nothing could save the unlucky Indian. But when almost within the brute's clutches, Said Mohammed with the desperation of terror made a sudden jump to the right towards the river, as if intending to fling himself into it. The lion swerved after him, presenting his flank to the anxious spectators. Quick as thought Ferrier raised his rifle and, just as the beast was midway in his final spring, brought him down with a bullet through the heart.

John heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"Good man!" he said. "But what on earth is the fellow up to?"

Next moment both he and Ferrier were shaking their sides with laughter, almost hysterical now that the tension was relaxed. The Bengali, too much overcome with terror to be aware of his safety, was scrambling up a thorn tree with an agility that would have done credit to a slimmer man. Up he went, frantically swinging himself from bough to bough. Half way up he lost his puggaree, snatched from his head by a long spike, and every stage of his ascent was marked by little bits of his white cotton dhoti left clinging to the branches. For some moments John was helpless with laughter, but at last he managed to shout to Said Mohammed to come down, for the beast was dead. The shout only made him climb the faster, nor did he stop until he was perched on the topmost branch, his white robe flapping in tatters about him. Nothing would induce him to budge until the lion's head had been cut off, to be carried back to the farm as a trophy. Then he descended, much more slowly than he had mounted, and with a piteous effort to regain his dignity that was too much for John and Ferrier, who turned their backs so that he should not see their amusement.

These excitements were considered enough for one day, and the party set off for home, the natives carrying the lion's head and shouting a song of triumph. John said nothing to Said Mohammed until he thought his composure was restored. Then he said--

"I owe you my life, khansaman. It was very plucky of you to draw the lion after you, and I shan't forget it.--Shut up!" he whispered to Ferrier, who emitted a sort of gurgle.

A gratified smile stole across the Bengali's face.

"I am quite bucked, sir," he said. "Your words are sweeter than honey. When your honoured parent returns to this vale of woe, my heart will be in my mouth when I say to him: 'Lo! here is your progeny, whom I, Said Mohammed, failed B.A. of Calcutta University, saved from the jaws of the lion. If I had not been on the spot he would have been absolutely up a gum-tree.'"

Ferrier guffawed.

"Why didn't you do as your uncle did in the Sunderbunds?" he asked presently, unable to resist the temptation of a sly dig at the failed B.A.

"The absence of one ingredient, sir, spoils the sauce. It was rotten nuisance, but I forgot _in toto_ the words of the charm."

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH--The Sack of the Farm

At breakfast on the day after the lion-hunt Ferrier, who was silent and seemed embarrassed, said suddenly--

"I say, old boy, d'you know I've been here nearly two months?"

"What! Getting tired of it?" said John, with a smile.

"Not a bit; only--well, to put it straight, I've been here so long that I ought to pay for my keep."

"Rot!"

"I mean it. It's all very well to be your guest for a week or two, and I'm jolly comfortable, but to hang on like this--no, really, I ought to pay something to help keep the pot boiling."

"Now look here, Charles Ferrier, you're a very good sort, but I'm hanged if I stand that. If there's any talk of pay, I ought to pay you for your services. Five weeks in charge while I was droving--name your figure. Rounding up strayed cattle; looking after the natives--how much that lot? You do far more in a day than any hired man, as I believe you call 'em in your part of the world."

"Well, I like it, and I've nothing else to do; in fact, I've a great mind to settle about here myself, and I would, like a shot, if it weren't for Hilda. I'm afraid it wouldn't do to bring her among the lions, as your khansaman said. But here I am, learning all about it on the cheap, and with no responsibility."

"Look here, we'll leave it at that. I'm very glad of your company, to say nothing of your help, and as by the look of it that misguided father of mine has been hooked, and the widow must be rolling in money, I don't suppose we shall see him back here. He'll settle down in Park Lane, and die before his time of overfeeding. You stay on as long as you like, and if you're getting experience, I'm getting your services, so we'll cry quits."

So it was left. The two young fellows shared in the management of the farm. They found their time pretty fully occupied, and a portion of a letter which John wrote to his father a week or two later may be quoted as showing how affairs at the farm were progressing.

The rains have stopped, and I've got all the planting done. I'm trying some radish and rhubarb this season; also carrots, which Mr. Gillespie told me are good for the cattle. By the way, that bull we called Moses because he's fierce, is off his feed; I don't know what's wrong with him, and you might send me Barton's book on common ailments. I don't suppose you'll find a copy in Geneva, or wherever you are now, but if you're not too busy to send a card in London, I dare say I'll get it when Moses is dead.

"That'll touch him up, Charley; he'll think Moses would be all right if he were here."

I bought a few fat-tailed sheep from old Sobersides (the chief of the neighbouring village) the other day. He got them, he says, from a party of Rendili who were driven south of the Waso Nyiro by the drought in their own country. I don't suppose it's true, for Coja tells me the Rendili live a big long way beyond the mountain, and we've seen nothing of them.

Sobersides tells us, too, that a gang of Swahilis have established themselves somewhere north of Kenya, and are raiding the surrounding tribes. As they've got guns, I bet they're that sweep Juma and his crew. That's all we've heard of them since we licked them.

Ferrier is still here; says he's in loco parentis, and won't leave me till you return to your duties. I wonder if you tell the widow's children that you're in loco parentis?

The lions have been quiet lately, since Said Mohammed saved my life; but as the mistris had next to nothing to do and were getting too fat, I have set them to build a stronger boma, of stout poles fastened together with transverse logs. That ought to keep the beasts out; at any rate it will give the place more the look of a respectable stockyard.

I wish you'd ship a few merinos for cross-breeding. Our half-breeds aren't much good for wool. The May lambs were born with long coarse hair, though they grew a poor sort of wool at three months. Wasama doesn't like the woolled sheep; he says they're not like the sheep of his country, and persists in believing that the first woolled beasts were the offspring of lions and hyenas. What ignorance! as old Martha used to say.

Out shooting the other day we saw a herd of zebras, and Ferrier has got a mad idea of catching some of the foals and taming them. We may try it if we come across them again, so don't be surprised if you see us riding to meet you on striped chargers. You, I expect, will be wearing striped trousers, light gloves, and a new silk topper.

The failed B.A. is a perpetual joy. His latest. Ferrier found a hair in his soup the other night. "Accept humble apologies, sir," says Said Mohammed, as he took it away. "In such circs. I can best cheer you up by reminding you of a verse of the little but divine Alexander Pope: 'And beauty draws us with a single hair.'" That may appeal to you, dad.

I hope your leg is all right, and you're enjoying yourself. _I've_ got to work for my living.

One day the younger Masai, who had taken a flock of sheep out to graze at the extreme west of the estate, came rushing in breathless and reported with intense excitement that the sheep had been driven off by some men who had pounced suddenly out of the bush. One was a Swahili, the rest negroes. They had carried him along with them for some distance and then let him go.

"How many were they?" asked John.

"Eight," replied the boy. "One had a gun."

"Which way did they go?"

The boy pointed to the west.

"We can tackle eight, Charley. Coja, saddle up the two best donkeys and bring us our rifles. This is something new, Charley. I wonder if it's our friend Juma again?"

"Rum thing, their letting the boy go, don't you think?" said Ferrier. "They must know we'll be after them, especially if the Swahili is Juma; it's not the first time you've chased him."

"He reckons on getting away, or on our not finding the trail, I suppose. We'll take Bill with us."

But when, riding their donkeys hard, they came to the little hut in the wood, they found that the Wanderobbo was not there.

"He's gone for honey, I suppose," said John. "Never mind; we oughtn't to find it difficult to track sheep."

They set off at full speed, and easily picked up the trail at the place where the marauders had rushed from their hiding-place in the bush. They followed it without difficulty so long as it led across grass country, but lost it for a time soon after they entered the bush, because there were evident signs that a herd of animals larger that sheep had recently forced a way. However, they recovered it again after ten minutes' search, and found from that point that it led in almost a straight line--so straight that John was puzzled.

"I can't make out why they haven't tried to blind their trail and lead us astray," he said. "They must be very cocksure, or else they're trying to ambuscade us. We'd better keep a sharp look-out."

They rode more slowly now, yet at a brisk pace, narrowly examining every specially thick bush as they approached it, and avoiding any clump of woodland that might give cover to the marauders.

Suddenly, when they were a good five miles, as John estimated, from the farm, on ascending a gradual slope they saw from its crest the flock of sheep placidly grazing on a little patch of grass about half-a-mile below. There was no sign of the raiders, and the surrounding bush being very thin, they must have been visible had they remained in the immediate vicinity. Cantering down towards the sheep, which scattered as they approached, the riders dismounted, rounded them up, and proceeded to count them.

"They're the Welsh crosses," said John. "Forty-nine--one missing. I can't make this out at all. Look, here's the trail of the men, let's follow it up. We'll tether the donkeys. The sheep won't leave this grass."

The trail led them straight towards a wood a mile further on. At the edge of this they saw clear signs of a sheep having been slaughtered and cut up. Entering the wood cautiously, they followed the trail for some distance, finding that it wound towards the north. Both were itching to punish the raiders, but the trail became more and more difficult to distinguish as the wood grew denser, and at length, hot and tired, and as much mystified as angry, they turned back and came out once more into the open.

"It's something to have got the sheep," said John. "But what was the beggars' game? They couldn't have seen us after them, and they wouldn't drive the whole flock so far for the sake of cutting up one."

"Sheer devilry, perhaps," suggested Ferrier. "They knew we'd overtake 'em before they had got very far, and I dare say are chuckling at having given us all the trouble for nothing. Rather a poor game, one would think."

"Well, we'd better drive the sheep home. It's a long march, and they'll be pretty well done up by the time we get there."

They remounted, and headed the flock towards the farm. Sheep, as every one knows, and as John had experienced on the road to Nairobi, are very slow travellers.

"By Jove!" said Ferrier, when they had marched for an hour and covered perhaps two miles, "I begin to understand what your droving job was like. I should never have had the patience."

"I'd give anything for a good sheep-dog. I must ask my father to bring one with him--or send one, if he doesn't intend to come himself."

It was on the verge of nightfall when, tired and hungry, they came to the outskirts of the farm. They heard the bleating of the animals that had been already penned, and the flock, weary as they were, moved a little faster to rejoin their kind. Coming to the gate of the boma, John was surprised to find it open, having given strict orders that it should always be closed immediately after the animals were brought in for the night. There was not a man to be seen. Having driven the sheep into their pens, they hurried on towards the farm buildings.

"What a smell of wood smoke!" said Ferrier, sniffing.

"Yes; I hope they haven't set fire to anything. Ah! here's Wasama."

The Masai came running towards them, followed by his son, the Indians, Coja and Lulu, all in great haste.

"The bad men, _bwana_!" cried Coja, and began to pour out a story so rapidly that John, familiar as he now was with Swahili, could make little of it, especially as Lulu and the Masai joined in with great excitement. John silenced them, and asked Said Mohammed to explain what had happened. His story, told in more direct and natural language than John had ever heard from him before, was as follows. About half-an-hour after John had started in pursuit of the raiders Bill had rushed in, dripping wet, and reported that a large party of armed men, having raided the village north of the river, were marching rapidly down with the evident intention of swimming across and making an attack on the farm. The Bengali, according to his own account, wished to close the gate and bar the doors of the bungalow, and defend it to the last; but John afterwards had reason to believe that this was Coja's proposal, and he had found nobody to support him. Only a few minutes after Bill's arrival the strangers were seen rushing into the farmstead. The mistris, the Masai, Lulu, and the few women of the village who had been working in the fields instantly fled and hid themselves, who knows where. Said Mohammed went into his own house, and there awaited the coming of the enemy, resolved to die for the sahib whose salt he had eaten. The men seized him and dragged him forth, demanding that he should tell them where the rifles and ammunition were kept.

"That made me very ratty, sir," said the Bengali. "What! should I tell tales out of school? But when those fearful bounders threatened to roast me at my own fire I reflected that it could not be your wish, nor the wish of your excellent progenitor, that a failed B.A. of Calcutta University should be roast joint for the sake of a quantity of villainous saltpetre, et cetera, and therefore I owned up. But while the banditti were gloating and slapping their backs I took French leave by the back door, and lo! ensconced behind the barn was Coja, who like me had saved his bacon."

From their hiding-place they watched the proceedings of the enemy. They first of all carried all the rifles out of the bungalow; then from the little outhouse adjoining it they brought all the ammunition and all the "trade." The place had been stripped bare, as the Bengali found when he examined it after the men had gone. The negroes had then shouldered the loot under the direction of three Swahilis who had guns, and when they had marched off, the Swahilis had kindled a fire in the little space between the floor of the bungalow and the ground. Then they had hurried off after the rest. As soon as they had disappeared, Coja and the Bengali emerged from their hiding-places, and extinguished the fire with water from the rain-water tank near the dairy. Very little damage had been done, the incendiaries having been in such haste to overtake the rest of their party that they had not waited to ensure a good blaze.

In the first shock of hearing this bad news both John and Ferrier used such language as might have been expected of them. It was only too clear now that the sheep-stealing had been a mere blind, cunningly devised to decoy them from the farm while the real raid was effected. To John it was a disaster. When he hurried into the outhouses and bungalow and found that rifles, ammunition, and every bundle of "trade" were gone, he felt that ruin stared him in the face. It is not surprising that, tired out after his long day's work, he saw things even blacker than they were. There was still a balance at the bank, Cousin Sylvia having insisted on paying all the expenses of Mr. Halliday's tour; though if John drew upon that there would be little or no reserve in case the second year's working turned out unprofitable. Meanwhile the actual loss was heavy, and the inconvenience perhaps greater, for without the "trade" he could not pay the labourers from the village, and what with the lack of wages and the damage to their employer's prestige, John foresaw a refusal to work any more.

An examination of the bungalow showed that the floor was little more than scorched. Nothing had been taken from it except the rifles, so far as John could see. He kept very little cash, but that was intact. His rupee notes were always stowed for security in the pockets of his belt. It was clear that the raiders had come for arms and "trade" only, and having got what they wanted had wasted no time in merely looting.

"We can't sit down under this," said John, when he had realized the extent of his loss. "Yet I don't know what on earth we can do. We've two rifles and twenty rounds apiece, against--how many did these ruffians number, khansaman?"

"In mental arithmetic, sir, I am mere greenhorn, rank duffer; but from cursory squint I figure them at five hundred."

"Oh, come now, that won't do. If they had been so many they wouldn't have been in such a hurry, Where's Bill?"