Fire Across the Veldt Read Online Free

at the Boers with it. It might annoy them. If we are not back by daylight, make your way back along the railway track the way we came until you meet the train.’
    ‘I’d rather come with you.’
    ‘No.’ He grinned. ‘Can’t have a feeble woman with us. If we are caught, then I doubt if the Boers will shoot us. They don’t like to be bogged down with prisoners, so they will probably slap our wrists and turn us loose again. In which case we shall be back where we started. But I intend to get those horses. Be careful, darling.’ He kissed her quickly and turned away. ‘Lead on, Mzingeli.’
    Treading carefully in the semi-darkness, the three men began their climb. It was not arduous, for it seemed as though the Boers had not dismounted, although, in truth, Simon could see little sign of the party having come this way, for there was no soil or sand lining the track, only shreds of coarse grass struggling through the rocks. It betrayed no indentations. Mzingeli, however, showed no hesitation and continued to stride upwards.
    After fifteen minutes, he held up his hand and waited for the others to join him. ‘Horses up just ahead,’ he whispered. ‘I smell them. I go alone now. Come back and tell you.’ And he was gone.
    Jenkins crouched down next to Fonthill, his knife gleaming in his hand. ‘What’s the plan, then, bach sir?’
    ‘Put the knife away, 352. I don’t want any killing unless we absolutely have to. It depends how many guards there are. If thereis only one, I want you to creep up behind him, put a revolver at his head and tell him to be quiet. Here’s a gag and some tent cord. We will bind him and take the horses – but quietly, oh so quietly.’
    ‘An’ if there’s more than one guard?’
    ‘I’ll have to think again.’
    Mzingeli was back, it seemed, almost as soon as he had gone. He slipped down between the two. ‘Camp is on a plateau over the back,’ he whispered, gesturing with his hand. ‘Away from horses, which are nearer.’
    ‘Now there’s a stroke of luck,’ beamed Jenkins. ‘How many guards?’
    ‘Only one I see. He up on right there, on top of path. We must get round him. But I think he sleeps.’
    ‘Ah.’ Fonthill’s teeth flashed in the moonlight. ‘As I said. Bad soldiering. Good. Now, 352, crawl away to the right and get behind the guard. We will go to just below the top and wait until you’ve dealt with the Boer – I know you can do it. Very quietly. Now. Off you go.’
    Jenkins wriggled away like an eel between the rocks and Fonthill followed Mzingeli as the tracker crawled upwards, placing hands and feet with care. As the hunched figure of the guard came into sight, silhouetted against a now star-strewn sky, they froze onto the grass. They kept their eyes fixed on the man, who remained immobile, crouched like some ancient shepherd guarding his flock. Then, as they watched, a figure suddenly rose behind him, putting one arm under his throat and presenting the stumpy barrel of the revolver to his ear. The man attempted to rise and shout but Jenkins clasped a hand to his mouth and whispered to him. Immediately, the guard froze, immobile.
    Simon and Mzingeli were upon him in a flash. Fonthill forced open the man’s mouth and thrust a rolled handkerchief into it, tying it into place with a bandana knotted at the back of his neck. Then they rolled him over and bound his hands behind his back before tying his legs together. The Boer lay looking up at them, eyes bulging.
    ‘Can’t see any more guards, bach sir,’ whispered Jenkins. ‘The camp’s over there,’ he nodded with his head, ‘beyond the ’orses. They’ve ’obbled all the ’orses by binding one foreleg back. I call that bloody cruel. An’ them supposed to be marvellous ’orsemen, look you.’
    Fonthill nodded. Jenkins had been brought up on a farm in the north of Wales and was a superb horseman. He was also a lover of horseflesh.
    ‘Mzingeli,’ he whispered. ‘You and Jenkins see if you can find