Harry stared at him. 'They'll shoot you.' 'They'll have to catch me first.' Ralph turned and bellowed to his Scouts, 'Troop, mount! Walk march, forward!' There was no doubt that he was a wizard. A wizened little fellow, not much taller than Tungata or any 'of his companions, but he was painted in the most marvelous colours, zigzags of crimson and white and black across his face and chest.
When he first appeared out of the bush beside the stream in the secret valley, the children were frozen with terror. But before they could recover their wits sufficiently to run, the little painted wizard uttered such a string of cries and grunts, imitating horse and eagle and chacma baboon, at the same time prancing and flapping and scratching, that their terror turned to fascination.
Then from the sack over his shoulder, the wizard dug out a huge lump of rock sugar candy. He sucked it noisily, and the children who had not tasted sugar in weeks drew closer and watched him with glistening dark eyes. He proffered the lump of sugar to Tungata who edged forward, snatched it and scampered back. The little wizard laughed in such an infectious manner, that the other children laughed with him and swarmed forward to grab at the fresh lumps of candy he offered. Surrounded by laughing, clapping children, the little wizard climbed the path up the side of the valley to the rock shelter.
The women, lulled and reassured by the sounds of happy children, came to crowd about the little wizard, to stare and giggle, and the boldest to ask him. 'Who are you?' 'Where do you come from?' 'What is in the sack?' In reply to the last question, the wizard drew out a handful of coloured ribbons, and the younger women shrieked with feminine vanity and tied them at their wrists and throats.
'I bring gifts and happy tidings,' the wizard cackled. 'Look what I bring you.' There were steel combs, and small round mirrors, a little box that played sweet tinkling music they crowded about him, utterly enchanted. 'Gifts and happy tidings,' sang the wizard.
'Tell us! Tell us!' they chanted.
'The spirits of our forefathers have come to aid us. They have sent a divine wind to eat up the white men, as the rinderpest ate up the cattle. All the white men are de adV 'The amakiwa are de adV 'They have left behind them all these wonderful gifts. The town of Bulawayo is empty of white men, but these things are there for all to take. As much as you will but hurry, all the men and women of the Matabele are going there. There will be nothing left for those who come after.
Look, look at these beautiful pieces of cloth, there are thousands of them. Who wants these pretty buttons, these sharp knives? Those who want them must follow me!' sang the wizard. 'For the fighting is over!
The white men are dead! The Matabele have triumphed, who wants to follow me?' 'Lead us, little Father,' they begged him. 'We will follow you.
Still digging out gewgaws and trifles from the sack, the painted wizard started down towards the end of the narrow valley, and the women snatched up their little ones, strapped them to their backs with strips of cloth, called to the older children and hurried after the wizard.
'Follow me, people of MashobaneV he chirped. 'Your time of greatness has come. The prophecy of the Umlimo is fulfilled. The divine wind from the north has blown the amakiwa away.' Tungata, almost hysterical with excitement and dread that he would be left behind, hurried down the length of the rock shelter, until he saw the huge beloved figure squatting against the back wall of rock.
'Grandmother,' he squeaked. 'The wizard has pretty things for us all. We must hurry!' OVer the millennia the stream had cut a narrow twisted exit from the bowel of the valley, with high cliffs on each side. The granite was painted with rich orange and yellow lichens.
Compressed into this chasm the stream fell in smoking cascades of white water, before debouching into a shallower wider valley in the lower foothills.
The valley was filled with fine grass, the colour of a ripening wheat field. The pathway clung to the edge of the chasm, with a perilous drop to foaming white water on one hand and with the cliff rising sheer on the other. Then the gradient became more gentle and the path emerged into the quiet valley below. Rainwater had scarred the side of the lower valley with deep don gas natural entrenchments, and one of these afforded an ideal emplacement for the Maxim.
Ralph had two of his troopers set it up with the thick water jacketed barrel just clearing the lip of the don ga There were 2,000 rounds of ammunition in the oblong boxes, stacked beside the weapon. While Harry Mellow cut branches of thorn brush to screen the Maxim, Ralph paced off the ranges in front of the don ga and set up a cairn of loose stones beside the footpath.
He came scrambling back up the slope, and told Harry, 'Set the sights for three hundred yards.' Then he went down the length of the don ga giving his orders to each man, and making him repeat them to ensure there was no misunderstanding.
'When Jan Cheroot reaches the cairn, the Maxim will fire. Wait for the Maxim, then open up on the back of the column, and move your fire forward.' Sergeant Ezra nodded, and levered a cartridge into the breech of the Winchester. He screwed up his eyes, judging the wind-deflection by the swaying of the gras stops and the feel of it against his face. Then he settled his elbow on the earthen parapet -of the gulley, and laid his scarred cheek against the butt.
Ralph retuffied along the don ga to where Harry Mellow was preparing the Maxim. He watched while Harry twisted the elevation screw to raise the barrel slightly to the 300 yard setting, and then swung the gun left and right in its tripod to make certain that the traverse was free and clear.
'Load one,' Ralph ordered, and Taos, who was loading, fed the brass tag of the cartridge-belt into the open breech. Harry let the loading handle fly back and the mechanism clattered harshly.
'Load two!' He pumped the handle a second time, pulling the belt through, and the first round was extracted from the belt and fed smoothly into the breech.
'Ready!' Harry looked up at Ralph. 'Now all we have to do is wait.' Ralph nodded, and opened the pouch on his hip. From it he took the strip of brown mole-skin and bound it carefully about his right arm above the elbow. Then they settled down to wait.
They waited in the sunlight, and it beat down upon their greasy naked backs, until their sweat oozed from clogged pores and the flies came swarming gleefully to it. They waited while the sun made its noon, and then began to slip down the farther side of the sky.
Abruptly, Ralph raised his head, and at the movement a little stirring rippled down the row of marksmen lining the lip of the don ga
There was a sound of many voices at a distance, and they woke echoes from the lichen-stained cliffs that guarded the entrance to the gorge.
Then there was singing, sweet children's voices, the sound of it rose and filled with each fluke of the wind and each turn in the rocky passage.
From the entrance to the gorge a diminutive figure came dancing.
The weird pattern of red and black and white paints disguised Jan Cheroot's flat pug-like features, and the buttery yellow of his skin, but there was no mistaking his sprightly step, and the way he carried his head at a birdlike angle. The sack of pretties that he had used as bait was long ago empty and had been discarded.
He scampered down the path towards the stone cairn which Ralph had built, and behind him came the Matabele. So eager were they that they crowded three or four abreast, and jostled each other to keep pace with the Pied Piper that led them.
'More then I had hoped,' Ralph whispered, but Harry Mellow did not look at him. The coating of black fat covered the pallor of his face, but his eyes were stricken as he stared fixedly over the sights of the Maxim.
The long column of Matabele was still emerging from the gorge, but Jan Cheroot was almost level with the cairn. 'Ready,' Ralph grated.
Jan Cheroot reached the cairn, and then with a miraculous twinkling movement, he disappeared as though a pitfall had sucked him in.
'Now!'said Ralph.
Not a man in the long line of riflemen moved. They were all staring down into the valley.
'Now!' Ralph repeated.
The head of the column had stopped in bewilderment at Jan Cheroot's abrupt disappearance, and those behind pushed forward.
'Open fire!' Ralph ordered.
'I can't do it,' whispered Harry, sitting behind the gun with both hands on the grips.
'Damn you!' Ralph's voice shook. 'They slit Cathy's belly open, and tore my daughter out of her womb. Kill them, damn you!' 'I can't,' Harry choked, and Ralph seized his shoulder and dragged him backwards.
He dropped down behind the gun in his place, and grabbed the double pistol grips. With his forefingers he hooked the safety-locks open, and then pressed his thumbs down on the cheque red firing- button.
The Maxim gun began its hellish fluttering roar, and the empty brass cartridge-cases spewed in a bright stream from the breech.
Peering through the drifts of blue gunsmoke, Ralph slowly traversed the gun from left to right, sweeping the pathway from the mouth of the gorge to the stone cairn, and from the don ga on each side of him the repeating Winchesters added their thunder to the din. The gunfire almost, but not quite, drowned out the sounds from the valley
