That was it.
Where would they meet? On a river obviously, for they must have water
for two thousand horses. The Orange was too dangerous, so it must be
the Vaal, but whereabouts on the Vaal'? It must be a place easily
recognizable. One of the fords'? No, cavalry used the fords.
A confluence of one of the tributaries'? Yes, that was it.
Eagerly Sean unbuckled his saddle, bag and pulled from it his map.
Holding the heavy cloth map folded against his thigh he twisted
sideways in the saddle to study it.
'Here we are now,' he muttered and ran his finger south.
'The Padda River!'
'I beg your pardon, sir.
'The Padda, Eccles, the Padda!
'Very well, sir,' agreed Eccles with stolid features covering his
bewilderment.
In the dark valley below them the single fire flared briefly, then died
to a tiny glow.
'All ready, Eccles,' Sean whispered.
'Sir!' Without raising his voice Eccles placed affirmative emphasis on
the monosyllable.
'I'll go down now.' Sean resisted the impulse to repeat his previous
orders. He wanted to say again how important it was that no one
escaped, but he had learned that once was enough with Eccles.
Instead he whispered,
'Listen for my signal. ' The Boers had only one sentry. Secure in the
knowledge that their stratagy had thrown off all pursuit, they slept
around the poorly screened fire. Sean and Mbenjane moved down quietly
and squatted in the grass twenty paces from the high rock on which the
sentry sat. The man was outlined darkly against the stars and Sean
watched him intently for a full minute before he decided.
'He sleeps also.'
Mbejane grunted.
'Take him quietly,' Sean whispered. 'Make sure his rifle does not
fall.' Mbejane moved and Sean laid a hand on his shoulder to restrain
him. 'Do not kill, it is not necessary.'
And Mbejane moved silently as a leopard towards the rock.
Sean waited straining his eyes into the darkness. The seconds dragged
by, and suddenly the Boer was gone from the rock. A gasp, a soft
sliding sound and stillness.
Sean waited, and then Mbejane was back as silently as he had left.
'It is done, Nkosi.
Sean laid his rifle aside and cupped his hands over his lips, filled
his cheeks and blew the long warbling whistle of a night bird
At the fire one of the sleepers stirred and muttered. Farther off a
horse stamped and blew softly through its nostrils. Then Sean heard a
pebble click and the cautious swish of feet through grass, small sounds
lost in the wind.
'Eccles?' Sean murmured.
Sir.
