corporal sandgate and trooper stokes rode forth from the police camp on express duty.

they were entrusted with very important despatches indeed; to the effect that, owing to the accidental explosion of an ammunition waggon, the large force of frontier armed and mounted police in camp at the kangala might, at any moment, find itself alarmingly short of that essential article; and containing urgent injunctions to the authorities in charge of the border post—where an ample supply was stored—to send on a sufficiency of the same, under escort, without a moment’s delay.

the two men had been specially selected for this duty. sandgate was a young englishman of good family, who, like many a superfluous or younger son at that time, had emigrated as a recruit for the frontier corps, beginning at the bottom. he was a fine, sportsmanlike, athletic fellow, who could ride anything and anywhere, and had soon got his first hoist on the steps of the ladder of promotion. the other man, stokes, was a wiry, hard-bitten colonial, no longer quite young, who had been some years in the police, but had twice lost his step as corporal owing to an inconvenient hankering after the bottle. when away from its temptations, as in the present case, he was one of the most useful men in the force. each, we have said, had been specially picked for this duty; sandgate for his pluck and dash, and a reputation for readiness of resource which he had managed to set up, stokes for his knowledge of veldt-craft.

the two express-riders started from the kangala camp at moon-rise, which took place early in the evening. it was calculated that, by riding all night, they should reach their objective, fort isiwa, not much later than the following midday. they could, by no means, cover the distance in anything like a straight line, nor was there, in many places, anything that could be called a track, which was where stokes’s veldt-craft was to come in: even then their route skirted the turbulent gudhluka reserve, whose swarming inhabitants were just then in a particularly dangerous state of simmering unrest, and would as likely as not make short work of a couple of members of a body whom they loved not at all, given an opportunity. once beyond this danger belt, however, there would be little or no risk, for, after that, the country was sparsely populated, and its inhabitants less disaffected. so the programme before these two was to push on for all they knew how, so as to get over the more risky portion of their ride under cover of night.

this being the case, it might have seemed a little strange that, having arrived at a point about five miles from camp, where the far from distinct waggon track forked into two, they should have reined in their horses, and sat listening.

“tell you what, sandgate,” muttered stokes, cramming a quid of tobacco into his mouth—under the circumstances, for obvious reasons, the pipe must be foregone with stern self-denial. “tell you what. it’s no good our waiting. he won’t come. he’s thought better of it. greenoak’s likely turned up again and stopped it.”

both men sat for a couple of minutes longer, their feet kicked loose from their stirrups. then, as they were on the point of resuming their way, a sound caught their ears—the tread of a horse, on the way they had just come over.

“hallo, you fellows! about given me up, i suppose?” said dick selmes in a low, excited tone, as he rode up.

“we were just going to,” answered stokes, who was inclined to be short of speech and a bit sour towards so obvious a specimen of the gilded youth as this one. “and, i say, if you could keep that confounded brute of yours from jingling that swagger bit so as to be heard all over the gudhluka reserve, why, it’d be just as well.”

“he’ll be all right directly, soon as he’s let off a little more steam,” said sandgate, good-humouredly, with a glance of approval at dick’s spirited and well-groomed mount, which, in sheer enjoyment of the fresh freedom of the veldt, was tossing his head and blowing off clouds of vapour upon the cool night air.

that dick selmes had been able to join the two express-riders had involved some plotting; for, from the moment he had heard of their errand, incidentally through inspector chambers, to whose troop they belonged, he had firmly made up his mind that join them he would. but, on putting this to the inspector, that worthy had promptly vetoed the whole business—subsequently compromising, however, by suggesting that the matter be submitted to the commandant.

the latter, however, a fine old frontiersman born and bred, took a different view. he was a reserved, undemonstrative man, but had taken a liking to this dare-devil youngster by reason of his pluck and adaptability.

“i don’t really see why he shouldn’t go if he’s keen on it, chambers,” he said. “the experience will do the young dog no harm, and he seems able to take care of himself. greenoak keeps him too much in leading-strings. oh, that,” as the inspector, with a dry laugh, recalled a certain adventure in vunisa’s location which would have cost our friend his life but for the shrewdness and promptitude of harley greenoak. “well, yes. but, on the whole, sandgate and stokes are thoroughly reliable men, and will keep him in order. of course, i need know nothing about it officially, nor need you; but if he should find his chance of slipping away after them, why, after all, he’s only our guest here, and can come and go as he chooses,” concluded the commandant, with a twinkle in his eyes.

harley greenoak was away upon a critical and delicate mission which he had undertaken as a personal favour to the commandant. as things were at present, he argued, his charge could come to no harm, at any rate for a day or two, by which time he himself would be back. all of which accounted for the comparative facility wherewith dick had slipped away—a facility which struck our two express-riders as strange.

something of a friendship had grown up between dick selmes and corporal sandgate. they were of the same age, had the same tastes, and, hailing from adjacent neighbourhoods in the old country, had acquaintance in common. on such they chatted in subdued tones, as they held on their way rapidly through the calm beauty of the african night. so far the said way was easy, as under the unerring guidance of trooper stokes they crossed each rolling upland, mimosa-dotted and grassy. here and there, far-away, the mysterious dimness was relieved by the red glow of a grass fire, or might it be the weird signal of plotting savages? soon, however, the ground became more rugged. they forded a small river, rippling deep down in a thickly bushed valley, and the steeds drank gratefully of its cool, if slightly brackish, water. then on again.

“we must swing back again here,” said stokes, as they drew rein on top of a ridge to loosen the girths and give the horses a quarter of an hour’s rest and feed. “there are kraals in front of us. i can smell ’em.”

“the deuce you can?” said dick, vividly interested. “i can’t. you’re not getting at us, old chap, are you?”

to this stokes vouchsafed no reply. he stroked his thick, wiry beard, looking unutterable contempt.

they resumed their way, sometimes making a considerable détour to avoid suspicious neighbourhood. once the barking of dogs, alarmingly near, caused a thrill of anxious excitement. had the tramp of their horse-hoofs been heard? they wondered, as they swerved off as noiselessly as possible. at last, what looked like a building loomed in front of them. just behind it were three or four native huts.

“i thought so,” exclaimed stokes. “blamed if this isn’t old shelbury’s store. we’ve come a leetle more out of our road than we need have done, sandgate.”

“we’ll make it up. i say, hadn’t we better off-saddle and have some grub?” suggested dick selmes, cheerfully.

stokes looked at him sourly.

“grub!” he echoed. “you’ll get none o’ that here. any fool could see that shelbury’s cleared. why, the place is all stove in and the whole show looted.”

closer investigation proved such to be the case. the door hung on one hinge, and seemed very much battered.

“we’ll push on,” said sandgate, with an anxious glance at the moon, now getting low. “the further we do that under cover of night the better.”

but stokes, rapping out something about just taking half a squint inside, and catching them up again in a jiffy, was already off his horse. the other two, resuming their conversation about old times and scenes at home, held on the way he had pointed out to them. so taken up were they that it was quite a little while before it occurred to them that it might be advisable to pull up and wait for stokes. nor had they long to wait.

“just as i thought,” he said, coming up. “the whole shoot has been cleared from top to bottom. you never saw such a mess in your life. but there’s no one dead inside.”

as they rode on, neither sandgate nor dick noticed that stokes kept rather behind. the moon, too, had almost sunk, wherefore, perhaps, they further failed to notice that his tan-cord uniform jacket bulged.