Wilmshurst paused. The adjutant was quick to notice his hesitation.

"Come, come!" he continued sharply. "Do you suspect any one? If so, out with it. We can't stand on sentiment in matters of this description, don't you know."

"Are you aware, sir, that MacGregor left camp shortly after we left camp and has not returned?"

"Hasn't he, by Jove!" exclaimed the adjutant. "Well, what about it? Has that anything to do with the case in point?"

"I hope not, sir," answered the subaltern, "but—but——"

"Proceed," urged his questioner calmly.

Wilmshurst, seeing no other course, boldly took his plunge, stating his views upon the connection between the scout's disappearance and the timely warning received by the retiring enemy, producing as evidence the rimmed cartridge case, which by reason of its shape and calibre could not be fired from a Mauser rifle.

"Dash it all!" exclaimed the adjutant explosively. "What sort of reptile have we been harbouring? I'm afraid that what steps we take concerning him will be locking the stable door after the horse has gone."

"We arc working simply in conjecture, sir," observed the subaltern. "He may be all right, after all."

"Conjecture, confound it!" shouted the other. "What d'you call this?" holding up the cartridge case. "If it isn't circumstantial evidence, what is?"

At that moment an orderly put in an appearance. "Macgreg him horse am come back, sah," he reported, saluting.

The adjutant, picking up a sheaf of papers and putting on his sun-helmet, hurried to the lines where the horses were picketed, Wilmshurst following and the orderly bringing up the rear.

Already news of MacGregor's disappearance had spread, although there was no thought of treachery in the minds of the other officers. They had come to the conclusion that the Rhodesian in an access of zeal had blundered right into the enemy column.

The appearance of the horse bore out this surmise. The animal was lathered with foam, its eyes bloodshot and its limbs trembling. Across the hind quarters was the sear of a bullet that had cut away the hair and left a slight wound in the hide. One stirrup was missing, cut through by means of a sharp implement, while the saddle and reins were dappled with blood-stains.

"Bless my soul, Manners!" exclaimed the colonel turning to the adjutant. "What does this mean?"

"Dunno, sir, I'm sure," answered the dum-founded officer.

"We can't let the affair drop," decided the C.O. "It's not fair on MacGregor to sit still. Tell off a section and follow the horse's tracks. Perhaps the man has been wounded—it looks very much like it—and may be lying out in the bush."

Promptly Bela Moshi and about a dozen men were dispatched to follow up the spoor. Good trackers all, they ought to experience but little difficulty, notwithstanding the fact that hundreds of men had been trampling the ground, for the Haussas vie with the Australian aborigines and the Red Indian in the act of tracing a man or an animal for miles with uncanny skill and persistence.

Hardly had the Haussas departed on their errand when a couple of British naval officers literally staggered into the bivouac. At first they were too utterly done up to speak. They were parched with thirst, their drill uniforms torn in their long trek through the scrub, and their boots were cut almost to pieces. One of them was limping badly as the result of a sprained ankle.

Under the care of Doctor Barclay the stragglers soon recovered sufficiently to give a coherent account of their misadventures. They were the observer and pilot of one of the seaplanes attached to the Rovuma column, their base being close to a large sheet of water formed by the inundation of the river. Out reconnoitring they had discovered a party of Huns and had bombed them very effectually. That was their version, although Wilmshurst had good reason to believe that they were quite under a misapprehension on that score. On the return flight the engine developed ignition troubles, and there was no help for it but to plane down. The airmen were lucky in being able to find a fairly open stretch of ground, but the unexpected happened. The floats of the seaplane skidded over the hard ground and caught against some obstruction, with the result that the machine was badly damaged, the pilot and observer being thrown violently.

Forty miles from their base the airmen realised that it was almost out of the question to make their way on foot through the scrub, especially as there were several small rivers to be negotiated. So they decided to find the bivouac of the Waffs which they had spotted on their outward flight. According to their estimate the distance was about eight miles, but in reality it was almost twice that distance.

Owing to the intense heat they were compelled to discard their overalls. Their foot gear was totally inadequate against the thorns and stony ground. Without water and with only a bar of chocolate between them they experienced terrible hardships before they sighted their temporary refuge.

Their chief anxiety was now the question whether the seaplane could be recovered. On this score their minds were set at rest, when the colonel promised to send out a fatigue party to dismantle the machine and transport it to the banks of the Runkoma, a small stream sufficiently wide to allow the seaplane to taxi provided the floats were still intact.

"You might take that job on, Mr. Wilmshurst," remarked his company commander. "Your platoon will be just about sufficient to provide the necessary labour, and also a covering party, although I don't contemplate any trouble from the Huns. We've just heard that Fritz has had a nasty smack at Motungba, which more than counterbalances his recent success against the Portuguese on the Rovuma."

The action to which the major referred was a brilliant little affair on the part of the main column operating in the Rovuma valley. The Huns were found to be in a strong natural position, the defence of which was further increased by well-constructed trenches and entanglements.

Notwithstanding the difficulties of a frontal attack, a Punjabi regiment stormed the defences, the Indians making terrific havoc with bombs. The Askaris broke and fled, the Germans alone putting up a fight until they were either killed or captured. The native levies in their flight were overtaken and cut up by a squadron of colonial horse, and with slight loss the Imperial forces scored a dashing little victory, capturing four field guns and one naval gun removed from the cruiser Konigsberg, beside a vast quantity of arms and ammunition.

The result of this engagement was a junction with the gallant Belgian forces, the Huns being split up into two groups, of which the principal force was on the Portuguese border, while the other, subdivided into mobile detachments, was doubling back towards the Rufigi river.

"These fellows will give trouble," declared the major. "They won't stand. They are in a mortal funk of enveloping movements; but by the time we've rounded 'em up we'll be jolly sick of the show, you mark my words."

The return of Bela Moshi and his section diverted Wilmshurst's attention into another channel. The Haussa sergeant had succeeded in following the spoor of MacGregor's horse for three and a half miles along the path taken by the Waffs of their practically barren operations against the kopje when the Huns had been reported. Here the trail ended in a medley of hoof-prints, while hard by a rock were traces of the splaying of half a dozen bullets. In the sun-baked grass in front of the rock were found ten used cartridge cases and a stirrup-iron, but a prolonged search faded to reveal any traces of the missing Rhodesian's departure from the spot where he had apparently been brought to bay. There were hundreds of footprints all around; those of Askaris and Germans, for none of the imprints of booted feet bore any resemblance to those of Robert MacGregor.

At the first opportunity the adjutant called Wilmshurst aside.

"You didn't mention your suspicions to any one else?" he enquired.

"No, sir," replied Dudley.

"It's just as well for the present," continued Captain Manners. "For MacGregor's sake I hope that you have done him an injustice, but I am quite convinced that you acted judiciously in communicating your suspicions to me. However, there's still one point that wants clearing up. The patrol did not find MacGregor's body. Nor was there any spoor to show which way he went if he did succeed in breaking through the enemy. The third surmise is that he might have been taken prisoner. If so, is it likely that the Huns provided him with a horse? I think not. Knowing Fritz as we do, the sort of thing that they would do would be to lash his wrists, and drag him at the end of a line—but Bela Moshi was emphatic that none of the boot-prints corresponded to those of the missing man. Until the mystery is cleared up, we are at a loss to understand whether MacGregor is a true man or a traitor."



CHAPTER VIII

ULRICH VON GOBENDORFF

Hauptmann Max von Argerlich, senior surviving officer of the 99th Regiment of Askaris, was in a furious temper with himself and every one with whom he came in contact. It might have been the unusual exertion of a forced march in the heat of the sun, or an insufficiency of food that had upset him. The hard-worked Askaris had good cause to dread his passionate outbursts, for on these occasions lashes were ordered at the faintest pretext, for efficiency, according to the hauptmann's ideas, could only be maintained by an active display of physical force.

Von Argerlich's depleted and harassed force lay entrenched at M'ganga, after having withdrawn from another fortified position half an hour too late according to the hauptmann's idea. All but surrounded, the Askaris just managed to escape being captured to a man, and now, temporarily safe from pursuit, the regiment had arrived at a prepared position to await another column known to be retiring in a north-westerly direction.

The hauptmann was a middle-aged officer, a Prussian who through some indiscretion that had given offence to his Imperial master had been practically banished by being sent to German East Africa. That was two years before the war. Upon the outbreak of hostilities he hoped by melodramatic means to find himself restored to favour, but to his chagrin he saw that younger officers gained promotion in the German Colonial Forces while he remained at this present rank of hauptmann.

With a bottle of spirits by his side von Argerlich sprawled upon a camp bed, while in the absence of mosquito curtain two lean Askaris, terrified by the Hun's drunken outburst, were diligently fanning him with broad leaves of a palm, knowing that if their efforts relaxed or developed into greater zeal than the hauptmann desired, the schambok awaited them.

Von Argerlich had good cause to remember the scrap before the retreat. A bullet fired from behind had nicked his ear, and he knew that it was one of his Askaris who had fired. As a warning he had ordered half a dozen of the luckless natives to be executed, but even then he was far from certain that the culprit was included in the number. There were strong signs of mutinous insubordination in the ranks of the 99th Askari Regiment, and only the fact that the expected column was on its way to join the forces under von Argerlich's command kept the black troops in any semblance of order.

The hauptmann was both sorry and glad on that account; sorry because he would automatically drop into a subordinate position when other German officers superior in rank came in with the column; glad, since there would be sufficient Europeans to overawe the iron-disciplined yet mutinous native troops.

The appearance of the German sergeant-major interrupted the hauptmann's reveries. Clicking his heels and stiffly saluting the veteran awaited his officer's permission to speak.

"Well, dolt?" enquired von Argerlich thickly.

"A scout has just reported that the Gwelba column has been sighted, Herr Hauptmann," announced the warrant officer. "The advance guard ought to be here within half an hour."

"It is well," replied the hauptmann, rising unsteadily. "Tell Lieutenant Muller to get the men under arms. Where's my sword? Hans, you black schweinhund, bring me my boots, and take care that there are no centipedes in them, or——"

Still grumbling the hauptmann buckled on his sword, donned his sun-helmet and boots and went out into the open space between the trench and the lines of low-built huts where the remnants of the 99th regiment—250 men out of a full strength of 1,200—were falling in.

Worn and weary the advance guard of the column limped into the camp, followed at regular intervals by the main body. With the latter was Oberst von Lindenfelt, the senior officer of the column, and another individual dressed in nondescript garments whose face seemed familiar to von Argerlich.

"Greetings, Max!" exclaimed von Lindenfelt. "Let us hope you have plenty of food. We are almost starving."

"Not much in that line, Herr Oberst," replied von Argerlich. "How have you fared?"

"Donnerwetter!" said the oberst vehemently. "Things have gone badly. It is indeed fortunate that we managed to find our way in. Had it not been for von Gobendorff here—you have met von Gobendorff before, I understand?"

"Der teufel!" ejaculated the hauptmann, grasping the hand of the motley-garbed man, "of course I have. Ulrich, ten thousand pardons, but in two years a man is apt to alter, especially in these strenuous times. Has anything happened that you have been compelled to drop your Scottish name? Let me think. Ach! I have it. MacGregor, was it not?"

Ulrich von Gobendorff shook his head. "Nothing compelled me, Max," he replied. "The time was ripe—therefore Robert MacGregor is no more. The name and character served their purpose," he continued, assuming a boastful tone. "It was I who warned von Lindenfelt's column when it stood a good chance of being cut off at Gwelba kopje. Again it is to my credit that a detachment of our forces was not ambushed at Zwarte kloof. I covered my tracks very effectively, did I not, Herr Oberst? Himmel. I have news for you, Max. The brother of your personal enemy, Rupert Wilmshurst, is with the English forces operating against us. Several times I have spoken to him."

"Has he any suspicion?" asked the hauptmann anxiously.

"None at all," replied von Gobendorff. "It was easy to tell him a plausible tale. And how fares the interfering Englishman, Rupert Wilmshurst?"

"We still have him in close confinement up in the Karewenda Geberge," replied the hauptmann carelessly.

"A personal matter?" enquired Oberst von Lindenfelt.

"The accursed Englishman struck me a blow because I thought fit to chastise a thieving native woman," replied von Argerlich. "That was when the fellow was still prowling round to find the ammunition which we buried in readiness for the present time. Our good friend Ulrich trapped him."

"Why didn't you shoot the Englishman as soon as I had departed for South-West Africa?" enquired Ulrich von Gobendorff. "It would have been a simple solution to the difficulty, for dead men tell no tales."

"I would have done so," replied the hauptmann, "but for this reason. There were hundreds of natives who saw him taken away under arrest. If things go wrong with us they will most certainly inform the English. Also I do not wish to be a subject for reprisals, as I hear our foes are adopting that attitude. If we are to be on the losing side it pays us to walk circumspectly. By the bye, have you heard anything lately of your brother, Ernst?"

"Not for many months," replied Ulrich von Gobendorff. "The last time I received indirect tidings that he was doing good work in England. It will take a very smart man to catch Ernst. He is one of the most wily Secret Service Agents in the employ of the German Imperial Government."

Oberst von Lindenfelt having dismissed the troops the three Germans adjourned to the hauptmann's quarters, where over the remains of the bottle of spirits conversation was resumed.

"Tell me how you gave the Englishman the slip, Ulrich," asked von Argerlich.

"It was quite a simple matter," replied the spy. "I informed the camp commander—he was a simple sort of leutnant—that I was going to overtake the column, the column, by the bye, having been sent by me on a fool's errand to capture an imaginary laager on Gwelba kopje. According to previous arrangements I fell in with Hauptmann Schmidt's company, and he obligingly set a squad of his Askaris to work to stage the last stand of Scout MacGregor. We trampled the grass, left a few cartridge cases lying about and sent my borrowed horse away with a bullet-wound in his flank to hurry him up, and to give additional colour to the effect. I should not be surprised to see the name of Robert MacGregor posthumously honoured with the British Military Medal or something of that sort."

The three Huns laughed uproariously. Under the temporarily exhilarating effect of the rank spirit they were beginning to forget their physical exhaustion.

"To be on the safe side," continued von Gobendorff, "it will be necessary for me to get as far away from the Nth-West African Regiment as I can. I presume that you have no objection to my leaving you, Herr Oberst?"

Von Lindenfelt grunted assent.

"Can you get clear of the colony?" he asked. "Every frontier is guarded, while since the Jaguar succeeded in running her cargo of quick-firers ashore even the coast is rigidly patrolled by those accursed English cruisers."

"Give me a dozen native carriers, rifles and ammunition, and I'll wager that before another fortnight I'll be in Rhodesia," declared von Gobendorff. "Once there the rest will be easy; train to Cape Town, mail-boat to Plymouth, our splendid unterseebooten permitting; then, having applied to a certain compatriot in London for a forged passport, I'll cross to Flushing and be in German territory three months from now."

"If you do, please don't forget to inform the authorities at Berlin that I am still doing good work for the Fatherland," remarked the hauptmann earnestly. "The War Office seems to forget us out here."

"Quite so," agreed von Lindenfelt. "We do not get even Iron Crosses, although we are still holding out after two years of incessant guerrilla warfare. Only the other day——"

A junior officer stood in the doorway, his flaccid features working with excitement.

"Pardon, Herr Oberst," he exclaimed, as he saluted. "An English aeroplane——"

"Donnerwetter!" interrupted the German excitedly. "Is that so? Von Argerlich, I trust that there is a positively bomb-proof shelter available? How far away is the accursed machine, Herr Schmidt? Is it flying in the direction of M'ganga?"

"No, sir," replied the leutnant gravely. He wanted to smile, but a display of mirth at the expense of a superior officer was not advisable. "It has fallen at about twelve kilometres from here. Our scouts reported that the two occupants were seen tramping through the bush in the direction of the English bivouac four miles south of Gwelba."

"Why did not the Askaris shoot them?" demanded Oberst von Lindenfelt.

"There were but three of our scouts and the Englishmen were armed," explained the German. "I would venture to suggest, Herr Oberst, that the men did well to return immediately with their report rather than risk being disabled in an attempt to engage the airmen."

Von Lindenfelt pondered a few moments, then he turned abruptly to Ulrich von Gobendorff.

"I believe you understand aeroplanes, Ulrich," he said. "Did you not fly at the great Johannesthal meeting a few years ago? I thought you told me so. Ah! yes. You will accompany Hauptmann von Argerlich and a half company of Askaris. If the machine is easily repairable, fly it back here, otherwise destroy it. Until this duty is performed I withhold my permission for you to leave the column. Start as soon as possible. A horse will be provided you."

It was useless to demur. The oberst's word was law. Inwardly raging von Gobendorff rose to his feet, stiffly saluted and followed the hauptmann out of the hut in execution of von Lindenfelt's order.



CHAPTER IX

THE FIGHT FOR THE SEAPLANE

At dawn Wilmshurst left the camp, accompanied by the full platoon, to attempt the salving of the crippled seaplane. It was a comparatively easy matter to follow the tracks of the two airmen, for the down-trodden grass and the frequent sights of wisps of clothing adhering to the briars and thorns were evidences of a spoor that even an indifferent scout could determine.

"Those two johnnies must have had a rough time of it," thought the subaltern. "I can well imagine their difficulties. It's a wonder they got to the camp at all, for there are distinct spoors of lions. What's that, Bela Moshi?"

"Big rhino him come by," reported the sergeant, pointing to heavy depression on the ground. What he meant was that a rhinoceros had cut across the bush path not so very long ago, as the freshly trampled grass showed.

"All right," replied Wilmshurst. "Warn the men to be on the alert. We don't want casualties."

Bela Moshi hurried to the head of the column, for the Haussas were in single file, owing to the narrowness of the bush-path.

At that moment the platoon was crossing a dried water-course, the ground shelving steeply on both sides. The subaltern had an almost uninterrupted view of the heads and shoulders of the men preceding him as the foremost began the stiff ascent beyond the nullah.

Suddenly the Haussas broke right and left, uttering warning shouts. Charging down the narrow track was a huge animal of the buffalo tribe, commonly known in Central Africa as a "bush-cow."

The ground trembled under the thud of the brute's ponderous weight as it rushed at terrific speed to attack the khaki-clad blacks.

One man alone stood his ground. Dropping on one knee he fired straight at the centre of the tufts of hair that concealed the animal's eyes, the range being less than thirty yards.

Dudley heard the almost simultaneous crash of the rifle and the thud of the bullet against the bush-cow's frontal-bone, but apparently unharmed the animal continued its headlong rush.

Too late the plucky Haussa attempted to avoid the impetus by springing aside. Even as he leapt to his feet the man was caught by the lowered head of the ferocious brute and tossed ten feet in the air.

Across the bed of the dried-up stream the bush-cow charged, until Wilmshurst hurriedly came to the conclusion that it was quite time for him to dodge behind a tree. As he made for shelter he saw the animal's fore-legs collapse and its ponderous carcass plough the ground.

Making his way through the press of excited Haussas Wilmshurst saw that the bush-cow was stone dead. The bullet had penetrated the brain, entering by a neatly-drilled puncture and emerging by a hole as large as a man's fist. Yet, although hit in a vital spot, the animal had covered a distance of nearly fifty yards before collapsing.

"One no go," declared Bela Moshi. "Anoder him lib for come plenty quick."

"Think so?" remarked the subaltern. "Then don't stand bunched up together—extend. Three of you lift Nara Gilul into the shade."

Anxiously Wilmshurst examined the brave but unfortunate black. Nara Gilul was fully conscious in spite of having fallen on his head, but two of his ribs were fractured and his shins were badly cut although protected by his puttees.

"Nara Gilul him stop till we come back," suggested the corporal of his section in answer to Dudley's question as to what was to be done. "Him 'ab rifle an' ammunition. Him lib to take care ob himsel'. Berry much him fault."

"That won't do, corporal," said Wilmshurst. "We must send him back. Take five men with you. It will be only two hours' trek."

Accordingly the Haussas set to work to make a stretcher, performing the task with wonderful celerity. They were on the point of lifting the helpless man when the shout was raised.

"Bush-cow, him come!"

"Take cover, all of you!" shouted the subaltern, loath to hamper his task by additional casualties.

The Haussas obeyed with one exception—Bela Moshi.

The sergeant, slipping a clip into the magazine, stood right in the centre of the path along which the second bush-cow was tearing, eager to avenge its mate.

Wilmshurst made no further attempt to order Beta Moshi to take refuge. He realised that to do so would flurry the imperturbable sergeant, but he was entirely at a loss to understand why the Haussa was apparently courting disaster in precisely the same way as the luckless Nara Gilul had done.

A rifle bolt clicked in the bush on the sergeant's flank.

"Unload!" he hissed, knowing that the risk he ran from an excited man with a loaded rifle was greater than that confronting him.

At a terrific pace the bush-cow bore down. Twenty yards from the motionless man the brute lowered its head. In that position its vision was obscured by the thick tufts of long hair. Having taken its final "sighting position" the animal relied upon its momentum to achieve the destruction of its human enemy.

The moment the bush-cow lowered its head Bela Moshi, with every sense on the alert, leapt sideways behind a tree. Then, as the infuriated quadruped thundered past, the Haussa brought his rifle to the shoulder and fired.

Thirty yards further the bush-cow dropped and died with a bullet through its heart, while the victor, grinning as only a black can grin, strode magnificently up to his victim and planted one foot upon the quivering carcass.

The injured man having been sent back and the carcasses of the two animals dragged aside—they would provide excellent meat if the task of sun drying the flesh was not unduly delayed—the march was resumed, until on gaining the summit of a low hill the wings of the broken-down seaplane were visible as they rose obliquely above the scanty scrub at a distance of nearly two miles.

Halting his men, Wilmshurst made a careful survey of the ground by means of his binoculars. A number of large birds—aasvogels, or African vultures—were circling over the derelict. It was therefore safe to conclude that no human being, unless helpless to lift a hand, was in the vicinity.

In the midst of his investigations Tari Barl approached with a self-satisfied smile on his ebony features.

"Askari him foots, sah!" he reported, holding up three fingers of his right hand to indicate that he had discovered the spoor of three of the German native soldiery.

"H'm!" muttered Dudley. "That's rotten news. New spoor, Tarry Barrel?"

The Haussa nodded vehemently, and led his officer to the footprints.

Examination showed that three natives had been following the spoor of the two naval airmen. The firm tread of the latter—for at that stage of the journey they were comparatively fresh—was partly obliterated by the typical imprints of a black walking stealthily on his toes, for the impress of the heels hardly occurred. The Askaris had abandoned the trail a short distance from the brow of the hill, for there were marks where they had stood and debated, and the spoor leading in a north-westerly direction showed that they had gone by a different route from the one they had followed. This track did not lead in the direction of the stranded seaplane, so Wilmshurst conjectured that the Askaris had made straight for their main body, possibly with the intention of bringing men to recover the trophy.

Again the subaltern levelled his glasses and swept the skyline. Wending their way down a bare kloof were about two hundred armed blacks and three men in European garb riding in the centre of the column.

"MacGreg him dar, sah!" exclaimed Bela Moshi.

"Nonsense!" replied Wilmshurst, yet in his heart he was not at all sure but that the Haussa was right.

"MacGreg him make palaver with Bosh-bosh," declared the sergeant.

It was a contest between a pair of high-powered field glasses and the eyesight of a native. Vainly Wilmshurst wiped the lenses and looked and looked again without being able to satisfy himself that Bela Moshi's statement was correct.

"Here, you boy!" said the sergeant addressing Tari Barl. "You come here an' use yer eyes all one time quick. Say who am white man on der black horse."

"Me tink MacGreg him come," replied Tan Barl after a brief survey. "No; me no tink me know."

Wilmshurst waited inactive. Until the approaching hostile column had descended from the high ground and the men were deep in the bush, attempt on the part of the Haussas to advance from the ridge would result in the latter's detection. So, holding the men well under cover Wilmshurst kept the Huns under observation until it was safe to attempt a surprise.

Long before the extended line of troops had marched into the scrub-laden valley, the subaltern was forced to come to the conclusion that MacGregor was not only with the enemy, but obviously one of them. As the distance decreased he could make out the man's features, quite distinctly, and could see him talking volubly with the German officers on either side.

The Askaris were numerically far stronger than Wilmshurst's platoon, but the Haussas had a great advantage—that of being the surprising force. In bush fighting especially this is a decided advantage, since the closeness of the ground prevents the troops attacked knowing the number or disposition of their opponents, while the moral effect of a sudden rush of well-armed and disciplined men upon enemies practically unprepared for the onslaught cannot be under-estimated.

"MacGreg him make for maquisha," declared Bela Moshi grimly, as he carefully blacked the foresight of his rifle.

"Maquisha" in the Haussa language signifies something more than finished. A man might say, "I've finished eating," for example, and yet in a few hours he will be again satisfying his hunger, but "maquisha" signifies finished in the penultimate sense—the final extermination of a certain person or thing.

"No, no, Bela Moshi," said Wilmshurst decidedly. "We want MacGreg taken prisoner. That's important. Pass the word along; tell the men that there's a month's pay to the Haussa who takes MacGreg alive."

It was rather a tall order, and Wilmshurst knew it. MacGregor, now openly a traitor, would not be likely to surrender in view of the fact that a drum-head court-martial and an ignominious death in front of a firing-party would certainly be his fate.

Returning his field glasses and confidently snapping the lid of the case Wilmshurst gave the word to advance in open order. He had decided upon a position about two hundred yards short of the derelict aircraft, guessing that the still unsuspecting enemy would concentrate upon that objective, and thus form a compact and easy target for the Haussas' rifles.

Naturally concluding that the airmen had chosen the most open stretch of ground available for the purpose of making their landing, Wilmshurst found that his judgment was sound. Right in the centre of the valley the scrub was almost entirely absent, the ground being covered with grass little more than ankle deep in height and absolutely devoid of cover over a belt of nearly four hundred yards in width.

Up to a certain point the Huns showed caution, for presently two Askaris, pushing on ahead of the main body, came into view. That they expected no danger was apparent from the fact that they had their rifles slung. At the sight of the derelict seaplane they stood stock-still, for it was the first aircraft at rest that they had seen. Then bounding across the intervening stretch of grass they wandered round and round the machine, jabbering and pointing out to each other various parts of the aeroplane that particularly struck their attention.

The shrill blasts of a whistle diverted their thoughts into another direction. The officer in charge of the Askari column had signalled to the scouts to advance and examine the scrub beyond the place where the seaplane stood.

Like well-trained dogs the two native soldiers obeyed, and with their rifles still slung they hastened towards the position occupied by the alert Haussas, passing between two clumps of cacti behind which were hiding Tari Barl, No Go, Double-headed Penny and two more of No. 1 Section.

The Haussas let them pass. Unsuspicious the Askaris proceeded until their movements were hidden from their friends by the intervening scrub, then with hardly a sound the five lithe and muscular Waffs leapt upon them.

Before the startled men could even utter a gurgle they were lying flat on their backs, unable to move hand or foot, while a hand laid over their mouths and a keen-edged bayonet laid across their throats warned them that silence was the only alternative to sudden death.

Accepting the former choice the prisoners were bound and gagged, and taken a hundred yards or so into the bush, a Haussa mounting guard over them to make sure that the wily Askaris did not slip their bonds.

Wilmshurst's anxiety was now the thought that the main body would not emerge from the bush, since the two scouts were not able to signal that all was well. Several minutes passed, but still the German troops failed to debouch from the scrub.

A stealthy footstep behind him made the subaltern turn his head. To his surprise he saw Bela Moshi rigged out in the uniform and equipment of one of the captives.

"Me give Bosh-bosh de word 'Come on' one time quick, sah," he announced. "Me know how."

Wilmshurst did not think fit to enquire how the resourceful sergeant acquired the information. There are times when an officer does well not to question his subordinate's actions.

"Very good, carry on," he whispered.

Standing in a gap between two clumps of bushes Bela Moshi, grasping his rifle a few inches from the muzzle, held the weapon vertically above his head moving it to and fro five or six times.

The decoy signal was almost immediately answered by the appearance of the main body of the Askaris and with them the three Europeans, who were still mounted.

Wilmshurst let them approach until the foremost Askaris were within a hundred yards of the seaplane. They were now in no semblance of order, surging impetuously forward, their officers towering head and shoulders above the throng.

Sharp and shrill rang out the subaltern's whistle. A volley, crisp and clear, burst from the line of admirably concealed Haussas, then each man "let rip" as fast as he could withdraw, and thrust home the bolt of his rifle and bring the weapon to his shoulder.

It was such a tremendous surprise that for a moment the Askaris, save those who dropped, stood stock still. Then, panic-stricken, they broke and fled, the German officers setting them the example.

As the so-called MacGregor wheeled his horse Bela Moshi, who had withheld his fire, saw his opportunity. At five hundred yards he sent a bullet crashing through the devoted animal's head. Like a stone the horse dropped, throwing its rider to the earth.

By some means the dried grass took fire, the flames crackling and roaring as they spread with great rapidity, fortunately away from the broken-down seaplane. Through the whirling clouds of smoke could be faintly discerned the backs of the fugitives, many of whom dropped as they ran with a Haussa's bullet betwixt their shoulder blades, while remorselessly the devouring element made its way in the direction of the place where the traitor had fallen.

So complete was the demoralization of the foe that Wilmshurst had now no hesitation in ordering an advance at the double. Although the German levies still greatly outnumbered the Haussas the former had—in Tommy parlance—"the wind up properly," and numerical superiority no longer counted.

With fixed bayonets the platoon swept forward. Over the path of the fire the Haussas rushed, the still glowing embers failing to deter them, their bare feet notwithstanding. Yelling and shouting they pursued their foes, sweeping aside all isolated attempts at resistance, until the remnants of the hostile column were driven more than two miles from the scene of their surprise.

It took considerable efforts on the part of the non-commissioned officer to make the highly-elated Haussas desist from pursuit, but Wilmshurst knew too well the rashness of a prolonged chase through difficult country. Retiring, picking up wounded and prisoners as they went, the Waffs re-formed on arriving at the open belt of ground where the brilliant little victory had commenced.

By this time the scrub was well alight, fanned by the strong south-easterly breeze. The fire was also working against the wind, but the concerted efforts of the Haussas prevented it approaching the derelict aircraft.

In vain a search was made for the traitor who was known to the Haussas as MacGreg. His horse, surrounded by half a dozen badly-charred corpses, was discovered, but of the rider there were no signs. Reluctantly Wilmshurst was forced to come to the conclusion that fortune had favoured the recreant, and that under cover of the dense smoke the fellow had either crawled away or else had been carried by some of the Askaris.



CHAPTER X

PREPARATIONS

"Well, sergeant; how many casualties?"

Bela Moshi, wearing a broad smile, saluted.

"Brass Pot, him head-bone blown inside out," he replied, as cheerfully as only a Haussa can when reporting losses amongst his comrades. "Nimshi Pali, him no good—maquisha. Dat all dead, but plenty much Haussa hurt—so many."

He indicated by means of his fingers that fifteen were more or less seriously wounded, a fairly heavy toll of the sixty odd men who had paraded that morning. Nevertheless, the sacrifice had not been made in vain, for a numerically stronger force had been completely routed with the loss of eighteen left dead upon the field, and thirty-eight wounded and unwounded prisoners, together with fifty-nine Mauser rifles, which, for want of transport, were smashed after the bolt action of each had been removed.

Having taken proper precautions against a surprise counter-attack, although such a step was unlikely in view of the demoralization of the defeated force, Wilmshurst directed his attention to the object of the expedition—the saving of the seaplane.

West African natives are as a rule good carpenters and blacksmiths, and the Haussas were no exception. Under Wilmshurst's directions they set to work to dismantle the machine, removing the planes as carefully and expeditiously as a party of crack mechanics from the Royal Air Force factories. One of the floats was badly smashed, but the other was practically intact except for a small jagged hole in the three-ply mahogany.

In a couple of hours the machine was ready for transport across five miles of bush country, although, fortunately, the ground was fairly level.

A pair of mountain gun wheels on a broad base-line had been brought for the purpose, and the chassis, engine included, was rested on the axle. Relays of men steadied and propelled the heavy load, others armed with axes and entrenching spades going on ahead to clear the path. Other parties transported the floats and planes, while advance and rear guards and flankers were thrown out to guard against a possible surprise, while an escort had to be provided for the prisoners.

With frequent halts it was not surprising that the rate of progress was roughly one and a half miles an hour, and it was close on sunset when the rescued seaplane arrived at the banks of a small river, where the Waffs, having struck camp in the vicinity of Gwelba, had only just marched in.

Colonel Quarrier was delighted with Wilmshurst's report and personally complimented him upon the way in which he had accomplished the difficult task with which he had been entrusted, and also the brilliant little action, which was quite unexpected.

"Pity you didn't either plug or capture that worthless scoundrel MacGregor," he remarked, for there was now no doubt about the utter faithlessness of the supposed Rhodesian. "A man like that will cause more trouble than a dozen machine-guns. I suppose, in the course of former conversations with him, you did not detect any trace of a foreign accent?"

"None whatever, sir," replied Dudley.

"Or mannerisms?"

Again the subaltern replied in the negative.

"I can only hope," continued Colonel Quarrier, "that the fellow isn't an Englishman. It is just possible that he is of German nationality, and that long years of residence either in Great Britain or the colonies has enabled him to totally suppress his Hunnish accent and traits, although it is almost an impossible matter to eradicate his sympathies for his kultured Fatherland. 'Once a German, always a German,' you know."

Having been dismissed by his colonel, Dudley was questioned and congratulated by Captain Manners, the adjutant, who also expressed regret that the so-called MacGregor had contrived to escape capture. The members of the "Lone Star Crush" were boisterously warm in their congratulations, chaffing the subaltern as well as they knew; but Wilmshurst, alive to the mannerisms of his brother-officers, took their facetious remarks in good part.

The two officer-airmen added their thanks and good wishes. They were still too weak to walk any distance and had to be carried in roughly-constructed "dhoolies" by the Haussas. Their relief on learning that the seaplane was safely alongside the river was great, especially when they were promised that the work of repairing the floats would be put in hand forthwith.

"Your C.O. evidently wants to get rid of us," declared the pilot smiling. "A crippled 'bus hampers the mobility of the column. We heard that a runner came in just now before we left Gwelba, with the news that an ammunition column and details are on their way up-country. We've sent down for more petrol, so things look rosy—thanks principally to you."

"That's nothing," expostulated Wilmshurst. "Merely returning good for evil—that's all."

"'Returning good for evil,'" repeated the pilot. "I don't understand you."

"Let me explain," continued Dudley, laughing at the thought of disillusioning the airmen. "A day or two ago my platoon were posted on the M'ganga road. We were just settling down nicely to give Fritz a warm welcome when you two fellows started dropping bombs on us."

"Good heavens!" ejaculated the observer. "We thought we were strafing a mob of Huns. No damage, I trust?"

"You would have heard of it before now if there had been," replied Wilmshurst. "The nearest one just dusted some of my men, that's all. We couldn't get you to see that we were a Haussa platoon, and I had a nice old job keeping my men in hand. They wanted to take pot shots at you. By the bye, what made you chuck it—clear out after dropping only a few bombs?"

"Our last, fortunately for you," said the pilot. "I say, what a frost! An' we claimed four direct hits, didn't we?"

"We did," corroborated the other dourly. "We seriously considered the idea of giving you a couple of trays of Lewis gun ammunition, Mr. Wilmshurst. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to distinguish between British and German native troops from any height. By the bye, did you find a mahogany box in the fuselage? Good! it contains undeveloped photograph plates. One we took of your position. I'll send along a print when we get back to our base. It will interest you."

The Waffs were to remain in camp for three days, pending the arrival of the convoy. Even had the latter not been expected the Haussas were temporarily rendered immobile by the presence of the crippled seaplane and her crew, and also by the number of prisoners. The captive Askaris were subjected to a strict examination, with the result that it was discovered that Robert MacGregor was really a German, and a person of some official capacity, since he was on friendly terms with the Hun commandant, while an Askari sergeant gave the traitor's name with great distinctness, Ulrich von Gobendorff, adding that the German used to have charge of a fortified post at Twashi in the Narewenda Hills.

"That's not so very many miles from the Rhodesian border," thought Wilmshurst, as he made a note of the name in his pocket-book. "I wonder if we are ever likely to operate in that district?"

Other information given by the prisoners fixed the position of a German entrenched post held by three native regiments and a handful of whites, at M'ganga, under the command of von Lindenfelt.

"M'ganga? I thought this was M'ganga," exclaimed the puzzled adjutant, referring to a map. "Ask the prisoner how far he marched and in what direction before he was captured?"

The man having replied, Captain Manners was able to locate the spot. On the German-inspired maps it was shown as a place, whereas, according to the Askari's description M'ganga was a fairly extensive table-land, precipitous on three sides, while on the fourth the ground descended in a series of slight terraces to a broad but shallow river, fordable at a dozen places, within a distance of a couple of miles.

"If only the beggars will stand," exclaimed Colonel Quarrier, "the place will be well worth going for. With our small force a turning movement seems rather a tall order. Of course, if we can get in touch with the Pathan regiments at Kilmoro—and there's a detachment of Rhodesian Light Horse, too, I believe."

"Yes, sir," agreed the senior major. "If we can co-operate—cannot we send a runner, sir? He'll be back before the ammunition and a supply column comes in."

In quick time the repairs to the seaplane were completed, and the craft moored afloat in a wide expanse of the river. Owing to the difficult country, where an aeroplane fitted with landing-wheels would be at a loss to find a suitable spot to alight, a seaplane stood a better chance, owing to the presence of several wide rivers, and here the Sea Service machines of the Royal Air Force scored over the German aircraft; most of which were already hors de combat, and could not be replaced owing to the lack of material and the cutting off of German East Africa from practically all communication without.

On hearing of the proposed attack upon von Lindenfelt the naval airmen, who were rapidly recovering from the effect of their arduous and perilous trek, volunteered to remain and co-operate. For observation purposes and machine-gunning the Huns they would be able to render yeoman service, while, when their offer was promptly accepted, the ingenious officers set to work to manufacture bombs.

These missiles, rough and ready in construction, were none the less formidable, while the moral effect was a great consideration. The "eggs" consisted of small sacks filled with cordite, both loose and in cartridges, while by manipulating the fuses of Mills bombs, so that the period between release and explosion was increased to six seconds, the improvised missiles were made to detonate just before reaching the ground after a fall of six hundred feet.

The tempestuous shouts of the Haussas announced the arrival of the transport column, for food was beginning to run short and the men's rations would have had to have been reduced had not the expected stores been speedily forthcoming. There was petrol, too, enough for a series of flights over a distance of two hundred miles; while to the intense satisfaction of officers and men big Jock Spofforth rejoined the regiment, looking none the worse for his encounter with the lioness, except for the still raw scars on his brawny arms.

"Just in time for a dust-up, I find, old man," was his reply to Wilmshurst's greeting. "You've been lucky already, I hear? Where's that MacGregor chap? Is he still with the battalion?"

Briefly Dudley explained what had happened.

"Skunk," muttered Spofforth. "So we've been taking a dirty Hun under our wing, so to speak. I don't mind admitting now that I didn't think much of the blighter when he pushed off and promptly fainted."

"But I scooted, too," interrupted Laxdale, "and left you to tackle the lioness."

"I also plead guilty," added Danvers.

"But with this difference," rejoined Spofforth: "you were unarmed and he had a rifle. Ah, well; you fellows have stolen a march on me, and I've a lot of leeway to make up. When do we move against M'ganga?"

"As soon as we are in touch with the Indian crush," replied Danvers. "It may be tomorrow."

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Spofforth. "Let's hope it will be a decent scrap, and that von Gobendorff will be present at the meeting."



CHAPTER XI

THE SNIPER

It was not until thirty-six hours later that the Waffs moved out of camp for the purpose of delivering a surprise attack upon von Lindenfelt's position. From N'gere a strong force of Pathans, accompanied by a mule mountain battery, was marching in a north-easterly direction to cut off, if possible, the Huns' retreat, while the Rhodesian Light Horse was operating between M'ganga and the Karewenda Geberge in order to keep contact with any German troops likely to attempt to reinforce von Lindenfelt's garrison. To still further encompass the hostile position a force of Belgians was approaching from the westward. Even if these resolute and energetic troops failed to be in for the actual fighting, they would most effectually round up any stragglers, who would otherwise contrive to escape to the hinterland, where strong bands of Huns still maintained guerrilla tactics.

Almost as soon as it was light the seaplane rose from the surface of the river and flew westwards to note the respective dispositions of the other troops operating against M'ganga. In the absence of wireless Colonel Quarrier could receive the airmen's report only by means of a written message dropped from the seaplane, while before the storming troops were in position the airmen would have to return to their temporary base, replenish petrol and then fly off to bomb von Lindenfelt's stronghold.

Progress was slow as far as the Haussas were concerned. Although there were no indications that the Huns expected an attack so promptly they had made certain preparations. The only approach from the south-east was by means of a narrow path through well-wooded and undulating country, and for miles from M'ganga the wily Germans had beset the road with pitfalls and booby-traps. There were caltrops by the hundred—sharp-pointed spikes stuck into the ground, their tips cunningly hidden by dead leaves—which were responsible for a few casualties as the Haussas' bare feet came in contact with the barbs. These devices the blacks countered by means of implements shaped like exaggerated hoes which they pushed in front of them.

Other defensive measures were heavy logs suspended by boughs overhanging the path by means of light but strong wires. An unwary footfall would release a catch which in turn would cause the baulk of timber to crash to the earth. There were old muskets, charged to bursting point with slugs and nails, which were fired by similar devices, while on three occasions fougasses, or land-mines, were exploded, fortunately without causing casualties. The Haussas, not to be outdone by their Askari foes, had taken the precaution of driving oxen well in front of the advance guard, and although six beasts had been killed by infernal machines, the troops succeeded in crossing the belt of forest with a loss of five men slightly wounded.

"The explosion of those fougasses has knocked on the head our chances of delivering a surprise attack," remarked the company commander to Wilmshurst. "It will be a frontal attack against a prepared foe. Let's hope the Huns won't bolt."

"That's the general opinion, sir," replied the subaltern. "The men are simply longing for a scrap. Fritz has thrown away one good chance. He might have played Old Harry with us if he had posted a couple of companies in ambush in the forest."

"I wasn't sorry to get clear of the place," admitted the major. "A hundred men might have been lying in wait in those underglades and our flankers wouldn't spot 'em. Hullo, here's the seaplane."

Flying at a comparatively low altitude the machine approached rapidly "down wind." In the clear atmosphere the concentric red, white, and blue circles that indicated its nationality were visible from a great distance, while presently the features of the observer could be distinguished as he leant over the side of the fuselage.

Presently a small object to which coloured streamers were attached was dropped from the seaplane. Greatly to the curiosity of the blacks, who watched the descending message with undisguised wonderment, the object did not explode on reaching the ground as they fully expected it to do; and it was with an absurd display of caution that Tari Barl and Blue Fly went to receive it.

"The C.O—sharp!" ordered Wilmshurst. "Don't hold the thing like a snake—it won't bite."

Tari Barl departed on his errand, and returned presently, looking very crestfallen.

"What's wrong, Tarry Barrel?" asked the subaltern.

"Colonel him call me one time fool, sah," he reported. "Him tell you come see him all in dashed hurry quick."

"I wonder what Tarry Barrel has been doing?" thought Dudley as he hastened to report to his C.O.

Colonel Quarrier was laughing, so were the adjutant and the regimental sergeant-major. In the former's hand was the unrolled scrap of paper on which the airmen's message was written.

"It's all right, after all, Mr. Wilmshurst," said the colonel. "Your runner is a bit of a blockhead, as I think you'll admit. Evidently under the impression that these coloured ribbons were a present to me from the skies, he handed over the streamers, while the case containing the writing, which had been soiled when it fell to the ground, he carefully cut off and threw away. As you are here you may as well inform your company commander the news: the —th and —th Pathans are in their prearranged positions. There will be a twenty-minutes' bombardment by the mountain battery in conjunction with an attack by the seaplane. At four forty-five the Waffs will advance in three lines to the assault. That's all, Mr. Wilmshurst."

The subaltern saluted and withdrew. It was now three o'clock and an hour and three-quarters were to elapse before the battalion went into action.

"Looks as if we've cornered the beggars, Mr. Wilmshurst," remarked the major, when Dudley had communicated the C.O.'s message. "I suppose they are still there," he added.

The two officers searched the crest of the hill through their field-glasses. So elaborate and skilful were the enemy defences that the powerful lenses failed to detect any trace of the rifle pits and sand-bagged parapets of the trenches. Nor were any troops visible. The top of the table-land looked as deserted as an unexplored land in the Polar regions.

Wilmshurst lowered his binoculars. He was about to make some reply when to the accompaniment of a shrill whistling sound his helmet was whisked from his head, falling to the ground a good ten feet from where he stood.

For some minutes the two officers regarded each other, the major anxiously the other whimsically.

"Hit?" asked the major laconically.

"No, sir," replied Wilmshurst.

"Jolly near squeak," continued the other. "I think we'll choose a little less exposed position to resume our observations."

Dudley retrieved his helmet. A couple of clean-cut holes marked the entry and exit of a bullet, the missile having missed the subaltern's head by a fraction of an inch.

"We've drawn their fire, sir," he exclaimed. "They are still there."

"A sniper at eight hundred yards, I should imagine," observed the company commander. "A jolly good shot for a Hun. We'll try our luck again."

Making their way to the depression in the ground where the Haussas of "A" and "B" Companies were lying, the two officers set a couple of men to work to rig up a dummy soldier. When complete the effigy was slowly moved so that from the hostile position it gave the appearance of a Haussa brazenly and defiantly moving out in the open, while a dozen officers swept the ground on their front with their field-glasses to try to detect the faint flash of a sniper's rifle.

A puff of smoke rose from behind a bush at a distance of half a mile, and almost immediately following the sharp crack of a rifle a bullet "knocked spots" off the effigy.

Without hesitation twenty or more Haussas let fly in the direction of the puff of smoke.

"What are you aiming at, men?" shouted the major.

The score of blacks grinned unanimously. In their minds they had no suspicion but that they had acted promptly and efficaciously.

Again the dummy was held aloft, and again the same thing happened.

"I've spotted him, sir!" exclaimed Wilmshurst. "Caught sight of the flash about fifty yards to the right. Fritz, old sport, you're exposed."

While the riflemen were keeping up a hot fire upon the bush that they supposed was concealing the sniper the company-commander ordered Bela Moshi to turn a machine gun upon the position that Wilmshurst had spotted.

Before twenty-four rounds had been let loose a man sprang three feet in the air, and fell inertly upon the ridge that had but imperfectly protected him.

"Dead as mutton," reported Wilmshurst, after bringing his glasses to bear upon the ill-starred Hun. "He nearly had me, though," he soliloquised, tentatively fingering the double perforation in his helmet.

There was no lack of volunteers to examine the sniper's lair. Regardless of the risk of being potted at by other enemy riflemen Bela Moshi, Tari Barl, and Spot Cash crept forward, taking advantage of every available bit of cover.

In twenty minutes the Haussas returned, reporting in characteristically native terms that the German's head had been literally riddled with the burst of bullets from the Maxim. They brought his rifle and ammunition, his field glasses and a small electric battery. In connection with the latter wires were run from the sniper's lair to the bush from which the puffs of smoke had been seen. Here small charges of black powder had been placed so as to be exploded from a safe distance and thus deceive the Haussas as to the rifleman's actual position. The Hun was a bit of a strategist, but he had overreached himself. It was the dense smoke from the black powder that had given him away. Had he used the so-called smokeless powder the Haussas might have expended hundreds of rounds without discovering the cheat.

Wilmshurst examined the weapon that had so nearly done him in. It was an improved Mauser, bearing the German Government proof mark and the date 1917, and was fitted with the latest approved type of telescopic sight, while on the muzzle was fixed a small metal cylinder that effectually silenced the report.

"That's strange, sir," he remarked to the major. "We distinctly heard the report."

"We did," agreed the company commander. "I cannot understand it unless the Boche for some reason fired several rounds with the silencer removed. If so, why?"

Before the discussion could be carried further a dull, booming sound came from behind the table-land of M'ganga, while at a little height behind the German position appeared the mushroom-like cloud of white smoke as the shrapnel burst.

"Good!" ejaculated the company commander, replacing his binoculars. "We've had the orchestral selection; the curtain rises on the First Act."



CHAPTER XII

THE STORMING OF M'GANGA

A loud whirring noise audible above the distant cannonade announced that the seaplane was passing overhead to participate in the strafing of Fritz. Of necessity the airmen had to fly high in order to avoid being hit by the British shrapnel, but the summit of M'Ganga offered a big target and the bombs were soon dropping merrily upon the trenches, dug-outs, and storehouses of von Lindenfelt's position.

In a very few minutes the table-land was enveloped in a piebald pall of smoke, yet no return fire came from the two 4.1 inch guns that were known to be with von Lindenfelt's column. Apart from the bursting shells and bombs there were no evidences of movement in the Huns' stronghold—a circumstance that caused the Waff officers to wonder deeply and mutter under their breath.

"Fix bayonets!"

The sharp click of the weapons being fixed to the rifles rattled along the line of excited Haussas. Then in open order the blacks hurried forward to take cover. Nor did any hostile bullet seek to check their progress. Without hindrance the black and khaki steel-tipped line gained a pre-arranged position within four hundred yards of the base of M'Ganga plateau.

Here the men were halted to take a "breather" before essaying the final task, while the company officers foregathered, consulting their synchronised watches. In another ten minutes—five minutes before the time for the bombardment to cease—the Haussas were to start on their desperate frontal attack.

"How goes it?" enquired Wilmshurst of Jock Spofforth, as the giant strolled leisurely across from the platoon.

"Rotten," admitted the other candidly. His big fingers were trembling slightly as he applied a match to a cigarette. "First time going into action, you know. It's the hanging about business that gets on a fellow's nerves."

"You'll be all right when the advance sounds," declared Dudley. "I felt like it once."

"Simply had to stroll over and have a palaver with you," continued Spofforth. "I was afraid that my men would spot my hands trembling. Hope the Boches are standing. Hang it all! Why did nature let me grow to this height?"

Spofforth was laughing now. The mental tension of the seemingly interminable wait was over.

"Two minutes more—hop it, old man," cautioned Wilmshurst. "The best of luck."

The whistles sounded. Almost immediately, as if by some uncanny means the distant gunners saw that the infantry were in motion, the strafe ceased. Overhead the seaplane still circled. The bomb-dropping part of their task completed the airmen lingered to watch the advance, and if occasion offered to assist the storming troops by means of their Lewis gun.

The natural features of the face of the plateau made the ascent a difficult one. Often the Haussas had to climb upon their comrades' shoulders, and in return help them to surmount an awkward terrace; yet everything considered the triple line was well maintained, the blacks needing no encouragement from their white officers, who, perspiring freely in every pore, were well ahead of their men.

The summit at last. Well-nigh breathless, Wilmshurst, although by no means the first, drew himself over the rocky edge of the table-land to find the ground plentifully sprinkled with barbed wire entanglements. Although this form of defence had been badly knocked about by shell-fire there was still sufficient wire, either in tension or else in snake-like coils, to offer serious impediment to the advance.

Suddenly the opening shot of a ragged, ill-aimed fusillade burst from a line of zig-zagged trenches a hundred yards from the edge of the plateau. A Haussa, in the act of assisting a comrade, sprang high in the air, and fell, his hands in his death-agony clutching at Wilmshurst's ankles.

Without knowing what trapped him the subaltern measured his length on the ground. Probably the fall saved his life, for a corporal immediately behind him was shot through the chest.

"Prone position—independent firing," shouted the major, realising that it was a forlorn hope for a few men to charge. Until a sufficient number of bayonets was on the plateau a forward movement was out of the question.

Coolly the Haussas threw themselves on the ground, taking advantage of every scrap of cover. To the accompaniment of the constant whip-like cracks of the rifles other blacks clambered upon the fairly level ground until three companies were in readiness to continue the advance.

Again the whistle sounded. The crowd of prostrate Haussas rose to their feet, yelling and shouting as they lurched forward with levelled bayonets. Men fell almost unheeded as the Waffs forced their way through the gaps in the barbed wire, and swept right and left to avoid the shell craters. By this means platoons became intermingled, while companies overlapped each other, but steadily the onward rush continued.

The Askaris in the first line of trenches did not wait. The sight of the tips of the glittering bayonets was too much for their courage. Their fire ceased; they turned and scurried over the parados, followed by bullets from the Haussas and met by bullets from their German task-masters, who had taken the precaution of stiffening their native levies with a lead ration should they show signs of weakening.

In this predicament the Askaris halted and faced about. Already the Haussas were astride the first trench and interlocked with the nearmost of their foes, the while a German machine gun was playing on the combatants with the delightful impartiality that a Hun displays to save his own hide.

Temporarily the Haussas' charge was checked. The machine gun was playing havoc with them. Then, suddenly, the ominous tic-tac ceased, while overhead came the pop-pop-pop of the seaplane's automatic gun. It was more than the Huns had bargained for. Some dived into underground retreats, others bolted, showing a clean pair of heels to the Askaris, who were now resisting valiantly.

In the melee Wilmshurst found himself attacked by three muscular natives, who for some reason did not attempt to fire, but fought with their rifles and bayonets.

One the subaltern shot with the last cartridge in his revolver. Hurling the empty weapon at the head of the second—which the Askari avoided by adroitly stepping aside—Dudley parried a bayonet-thrust with the sole weapon at his disposal, a "loaded" trench-stick. As he did so the second native closed, delivering a thrust that drove the bayonet through the left sleeve of the subaltern's tunic. Before the man could recover his weapon, Wilmshurst brought the heavy stick down upon his fingers.

Dropping his rifle the Askari gripped the subaltern's wrist with his uninjured right hand, while a third native ran in to drive his bayonet through the young officer's chest.

A deafening report sounded close to Wilmshurst's ear; he felt the blast of a rifle shot on his cheek, but he had the satisfaction of seeing the Askari topple forward and bite the dust.

Wilmshurst settled the third antagonist very effectively by delivering a crashing blow with his left upon the point of the Askari's chin. The man relaxed his grip and dropped.

"Thanks, Bela Moshi!" exclaimed Wilmshurst, catching sight of the sergeant as the latter thrust a fresh clip of cartridges into his magazine.

The struggle in this part of the line was now over. The Haussas were engaged in firing shots into the dug-outs to intimidate their German occupants. Fifty or sixty prisoners were being disarmed and rounded up, while the wounded had to be given attention.

Wilmshurst, picking up his revolver and reloading it, looked around for his brother subalterns. There was big Jock Spofforth in the act of putting a first-aid dressing round a bullet wound in Danvers' arm, while Laxdale was sitting on the ground and nursing his left foot.

There was no time to make enquiries just then. It was satisfactory to learn that all the officers of "A" Company were alive; those who were wounded were making light of their hurts. On the right flank the struggle was still in progress, and until all resistance was at an end Wilmshurst had no time for other things.

Acting upon his company commander's orders the subaltern took charge of the task of clearing out the dug-outs, while the remaining platoons of "A" and "B" Companies re-formed, and hastened to the support of their comrades who were still hotly engaged.

"If we only had a supply of bombs!" thought Dudley as he watched the ineffectual attempt of his men to induce the occupants of a deep shelter to surrender.

Half a dozen Haussas were gathered round the entrance firing volleys into the cavernous depths, and punctuating the fusillade by quaintly-worded threats of what they would do if the Bosh-bosh didn't "show hand up one time bery much quick."

Bidding his men be silent, Wilmshurst demanded the surrender of the Germans in the dug-out. Hearing a British officer's voice one of the Huns replied defiantly:

"We no surrender make to a schweinhund Englander. We food haf for six week, an' you cannot hurt us."

"Can't we, by Jove!" replied Wilmshurst. "Sergeant, bring along that box of bombs."

"Bery good, sah," said Bela Moshi, grinning as he hurried away a few steps on a phantom errand.

"Now, then," continued the subaltern. "I give you one minute to make up your minds; if you refuse to surrender we'll blow you to blazes. I take the time from now."

Half a minute passed in absolute silence as far as the vicinity of the dug-out was concerned, although three or four hundred yards away the desultory firing still continued. Three quarters of a minute: there was a shuffling sound from the subterranean retreat and the guttural voice of several Huns engaged in excited debate.

"Fifty seconds!" announced Wilmshurst. "Ten seconds more."

"Do not t'row der pomb; we surrender make!" implored a voice.

"Out you come, then; one at a time," ordered Dudley.

With his revolver ready for instant action should the Huns display any signs of treachery the subaltern awaited the appearance of his captives, while the Haussas stood by to back up their young officer should necessity arise.

The first to appear was the junior lieutenant, looking very scared. Finding that nothing occurred to cause him physical hurt he held his arms high above his head, at the same time saying something to his unseen companions.

Then came Hauptmann von Argerlich, pale-faced under his sun-burnt complexion. He had good cause to feel afraid, for he was by no means uncertain that the British possessed a record of his deeds—deeds that might be worthy of the German arms, but certainly would not be regarded with any degree of favour by nations with any respectable code of honour. Poisoning wells, for example, was quite a favourite and pleasant Hun trick when the perpetrators of the outrage were all able to place a safe distance between them and their foes; it was quite another matter when the officer responsible for the dastardly deeds was a prisoner of war.

Three more Germans followed, and then came a full-faced, double-chinned Prussian, wearing an order on his cotton drill uniform. In his hand he held a sheathed sword, the scabbard of which had already been unfastened from the slings.

"I am Commandant Hendrich von Lindenfelt," he announced as captor and captive exchanged salutes. "I make surrender and claim der treatment due to der brisoners of war."

"That'll be all right," rejoined Wilmshurst. "Please keep your sword until the colonel decides—I mean, until you are taken to Colonel Quarrier of the Nth Waffs. Are all the German officers here?"

"Yes," replied von Lindenfelt. "All except those who killed and wounded are."

"I am anxious to find a certain individual known as von Gobendorff," continued the British subaltern. "Can you give me any information concerning him?"

The oberst seemed considerably taken aback.

"I do not know any person so called," he replied after a slight hesitation.

"Think again, Herr von Lindenfelt," prompted Wilmshurst. "The man we want is von Gobendorff, otherwise known as Robert MacGregor, and is known to have belonged to the forces under your command."

Von Lindenfelt shook his head, this time resolutely and defiantly.

"I do know not," he declared.

It was practically useless to press the question. There were, Wilmshurst argued, other means of finding out.

Setting a guard over the prisoners Dudley sent a file of Haussas to explore the dug-out. In less than a minute the corporal returned.

"Number one big hole, sah," he reported. "Me no find no one time man in no place."

As a result of this somewhat mystifying intelligence Wilmshurst entered the dug-out. Descending a flight of a dozen wooden steps he gained the ante-room, a space fifteen feet in length and about seven in breadth. It was absolutely proof against the heaviest gun employed in the German East campaign, while, as a safeguard against bombs that might be lobbed into their retreat, the door of the second room was protected by a wall of sandbags backed with massive slabs of African teak.

By the aid of flaming brands held by the blacks Wilmshurst was able to make a rapid, but none the less complete examination of the shelter. Evidently it was the headquarters dug-out, judging by the smashed telephone, the pile of broken instruments, and the heap of paper ash that littered the floor.

At the subaltern's order the blacks prodded the walls with their bayonets and hammered the floor with the butt ends of their rifles, but no suspicion of the existence of a concealed "funk-hole" was to be traced.

"Precious little here," commented Wilmshurst. "I'll have to keep the place open for the colonel's inspection, I suppose."

Regaining the open air he posted a sentry over the entrance and, collecting the German prisoners, awaited the arrival of the C.O.

By this time all resistance on the summit of M'ganga was over. Away to the north-east came occasional reports of rifle-firing, showing that the Pathans and the Rhodesian horse were engaging the fugitives.

The one fly in the ointment was the escape of von Gobendorff. There was, of course, the possibility that he had been shot or had contrived to slip away during the action. In the latter case he had the cordon of troops to take into consideration; but knowing the wiliness of the man and the fluency with which he spoke English, Dudley began to feel rather dubious concerning the Hun's apprehension.

Otherwise the brilliant little affair was highly successful. Practically the whole of von Linderfelt's staff had been either killed or captured; most of the Germans in the firing-line had shared a similar fate, while the surviving Askaris were either captured or had escaped in small numbers through the lines of the encircling forces.

Von Lindenfelt had not counted upon the use of light artillery against his strong position, but the fire of the mountain batteries, assisted by the seaplane's bombs, had proved terribly destructive. Of the 4.1-inch guns mounted for the defence not one remained intact, their destruction materially helping the Waffs in their frontal attack. A considerable quantity of military stores also fell into the hands of the victors, much of the booty being found upon examination to have been sent to German East Africa during the last three months.

As a result of the operation a large hostile column operating in the neighbourhood of the Rovuma had ceased to exist. There were other roving forces still in the district, and against these the Haussas were to operate in conjunction with other detachments.

"It's all right when we catch Fritz sitting," remarked Spofforth. "The trouble is that he strongly objects to be caught. We'll have to chase him from the Rovuma to Kilimanjaro and back before we square up this business."

"And, even then, corner him in Cape Town," added Danvers facetiously. "I can see myself spending my seventieth birthday on this job."



CHAPTER XIII

THE FUGITIVE

On the evening of the capture of M'ganga a white man, fatigued and desperately hungry, stood irresolute upon the banks of the Kiwa River, roughly forty miles from the scene of the Waffs' successful operations.

It would have been a difficult matter to recognise in the jaded man the once well-set-up individual known in certain quarters as Robert MacGregor; nor was there much resemblance between the fugitive and the German secret service agent, Ulrich von Gobendorff—yet the man was none other than he whom the officers of the Haussa regiment particularly wished to lay by the heels.

By a series of hair-breadth escapes von Gobendorff had succeeded in making his way past the Pathan infantry picquets. For twenty minutes he had crouched up to his neck in the miasmatic waters of a forest pool, with thousands of mosquitoes buzzing round his unprotected head, while a patrol of the Rhodesian Light Horse halted within twenty yards of his place of concealment.

And now, with a strip of linen tied round his head, a ragged cotton shirt, a pair of "shorts" that were hardly any protection from the thorny cacti, and a pair of badly-worn "veldt schoen" as the sum total of his clothing and footgear von Gobendorff awaited the fall of night in the depths of a tropical forest.

His limbs were covered with scratches that were causing him intense pain and irritation; his face was swollen under the attacks of mosquitoes, until his bloodshot eyes were hardly visible above his puffed up cheeks. Unarmed with the exception of an automatic pistol, he was about to brave the dangers of a night 'midst malarial mists and wild beasts of an African forest.

As the sun sank von Gobendorff collected a heap of wood and leaves and kindled a fire. For the present he judged that he was practically free from pursuit. In any case he would take the risk of lighting a fire. It was not likely that British patrols would be wandering through the dense tropical vegetation during the hours of darkness.

Under the wide-spreading branches of a baobab the Hun was able to make one fire serve his purpose. Ordinarily he would have lighted three or four at a distance of five or six yards from each other, and thus found comparative immunity from the attacks of lions and hippos, but the baobab—it reminded him of a certain incident when he was "attached" to the Haussas—was able to protect both rear and flank from the voracious assaults of any four-footed creatures.

As the fire blazed brightly von Gobendorff consumed his last ration—a small cube of highly-concentrated food, which he had in his possession on the development of the attack on M'ganga. Throughout his flight, although tormented with the pangs of hunger, he had resolutely refused to draw upon his scanty commissariat. And now it was eaten: for the rest of his journey he would have to depend upon his wits to obtain food. Rather grimly he reflected that an automatic .302, although an efficient "man-stopper" in a melee, was not to be compared with a rifle as a means of procuring food.

Although inured to exposure in a tropical country von Gobendorff was feeling severely the effect of the sun upon his insufficiently protected limbs. In the rapidly cooling air his blistered skin was stretched so tightly that every movement of his neck, arms and legs gave him intense pain. The mosquitoes, owing to the glare of the burning wood, had ceased their attacks, but the effect of their previous onslaughts was greatly in evidence.

Slowly and carefully lying down on a pile of broad leaves the Hun tried to fall asleep, but in vain. Racked in every limb, his head throbbing as if it harboured a rapidly working piston, he endured—waiting for the dawn that would give him no respite from his torments.

Presently the denizens of the forest began their nocturnal activities. In the sluggishly-flowing river hippopotami floundered noisily. Elephants crashed through the brushwood making their way to the water, while at intervals rhinoceri and bush-cows charged blindly past the fiercely burning fire. Von Gobendorff was in a big game hunter's paradise, but he failed utterly to show enthusiasm at the prospect.

At intervals he crawled to his reserve stock of fuel to replenish the fire, knowing that if he allowed the comforting and protecting flame to die out he stood an almost certain chance of falling a victim to a four-footed foe. Once a large bush-cow thundered almost through the blazing logs, bellowing frantically as a panther with its claws deeply dug into the huge brute's hide was remorselessly tearing at the throat of its prey.

Monkeys, too, huge simians looking human-like in the dull red glare, came shuffling from the shadow of the neighbouring trees to gaze fixedly at the unusual sight of a fire. Muttering, chattering and gesticulating they watched the Hun's bivouac for several minutes until the sudden spring of a large cat-like animal claimed one victim and sent the rest of the monkeys flying for their lives.

With the first streak of dawn the nocturnal Bacchanalia ceased. Von Gobendorff, who had longed for the break of day in order to resume his flight to a supposedly safe refuge in the Karewenda Hills, found himself unable to resist the sleep of utter exhaustion, and as the last faint wreath of pale grey smoke rose from the dying embers he dropped into a deep slumber.

He awoke to find the glade bathed in brilliant sunshine. The sun was almost overhead, while he himself was lying in the dense shadow cast by the overspreading branches of the baobab. Through an opening in the otherwise dense foliage he could see the river rippling in the dazzling light, while partly hauled up the bank and partly resting between the reeds was a canoe—a dug-out of about twenty-five feet in length.

"Himmel!" muttered the German. "This is indeed good fortune."

The means of crossing the broad Kiwa River was at his command. He had made up his mind on the previous evening to risk a horrible death by attempting to swim the stream. He had seen what appeared to be logs drifting silently with the eddying current—logs that on the approach of danger would reveal themselves in their true characters, for the river swarmed with hippopotami.

Von Gobendorff was on the point of issuing from his retreat when the sound of voices and the rustling of the brushwood warned him that the owners of the canoe were returning.

Listening intently he recognised the dialect as that of the Birwas—a native tribe occupying a considerable tract of the hinterland. He knew the language well—he had the Hun's typical capability of acquiring a knowledge of foreign tongues.

Presently the blacks came in sight—two lithe and stalwart natives armed with primitive bow and spear. One man carried the hindquarters of a gnu, the other had a brace of birds dangling from the haft of his spear.

With an effort von Gobendorff pulled himself together and strode boldly into the open.

Halting, he signed imperiously to the Birwas to approach.

The blacks obeyed promptly. Experience had taught them to carry out the behests of their German masters with the utmost celerity. With every indication of abasement they approached and awaited the white man's orders.

Von Gobendorff pointed to the still warm embers of the fire.

"I am hungry," he said. "Get me something to eat and drink, and be sharp."

While one of the Birwas cut strips of flesh from the gnu and spitted them on skewers, the other placed more wood on the fire and coaxed it into a blaze. The grilling operation in progress the fire-tender ran to the canoe to return with a couple of small gourds of water, some dried berries somewhat resembling coffee beans and a flat cake of mealie bread.

Von Gobendorff soon discovered that the natives had been serving in the German outpost at G'henge, a position overrun and captured by a Sikh battalion about three months previously. They had, they declared, been very well treated by their new masters.

The fugitive smiled grimly, immediately wincing as the movement of the facial muscles gave him a thrill of pain. It was evident, he reasoned, that the Birwas had mistaken him for an officer of the British forces.

Hardly able to wait until the meal was prepared von Gobendorff turned to and ate with avidity, washing down the food with copious draughts of hot and far from palatable beverage. Having refreshed he ordered the blacks to hide all traces of his bivouac and made them carry him to the canoe. He realised how imperative it was that he should cover his tracks, and by no means the least important measure was to prevent any prints of his veldt schoen being discovered on the moist marshland on the river bank.

"Take me to Kossa," ordered von Gobendorff, naming a small military post on the Kiwa about thirty miles down the river, and at a point where the stream made a semi-circular bend before running in a south-westerly direction to join the Rovuma.

For the first time the Birwas demurred.

"There are strong rapids a little distance down stream," declared one. "We are not skilled in working a canoe. Can we not take you across to our village, where there are plenty of men who will paddle you to Kossa?"

"My word," said von Gobendorff, "is law."

To add greater emphasis to his words he produced his automatic pistol. The argument was conclusive. With every indication of fear the two natives pushed off, and seizing the paddles they propelled the unwieldy craft down stream.

Compared with his previous mode of travelling the Hun found the journey bordering almost upon the luxurious. He would have preferred a cushion, a double helmet and a sun-umbrella with a canopy thrown in, but reflecting that he was fortunate in being able to tackle the Kiwa without having to resort to swimming, he endured the glare with comparative equanimity.