Chapter 6 THE WARNING SHOT

Nobly the sorely-tried Waffs rose to the occasion. Notwithstanding their arduous advance and its meagre results they eagerly hastened to meet the new danger, knowing that with the destruction of their baggage and transport and their lines of communication cut they would be in a serious position in the almost waterless scrub.

They required little urging, the officers' words of encouragement being quite perfunctory although well-intentioned. In open order with flankers thrown out the Waffs hurried through the bush, the sound of continuous rifle-fire growing louder and louder.

"Button's holding out all right," declared the company-major to Wilmshurst, referring to the lieutenant left in charge of the camp. "He has MacGregor and young Vipont to back him up and twenty-five Haussas. Hullo, what's that?"

"German machine-guns, sir," replied Wilmshurst promptly.

"Yes, worse luck," resumed the major. "We've been running after the shadow and the substance butts in during our absence."

An orderly came dashing up with a written message. The major's face fell as he read it.

"We're out of it again, Wilmshurst," he remarked, after the runner had been sent back with a confirmatory report.

"How's that, sir?" asked the subaltern.

"Orders from the colonel for 'A' Company to hold the position shown on the attached map, and to cut off the retreat of the enemy. Here we are: see this kloof? Three platoons are to lie in ambush at that spot, another-yours, Mr. Wilmshurst-will take up a position two miles to the north-west, in case any stragglers attempt to break through the smaller defile shown on the map. It looks nothing more than a native path. We'll find that out later on."

At the word of command "A" Company halted until the rest of the battalion was almost out of sight. Then the detachment, moving to the right in column of fours, marched at a rapid pace along a comparatively clear path through the scrub.

When the three platoons had taken up their position at the indicated spot Wilmshurst's platoon had still a distance of two miles to cover-and that two miles was the roughest part of the whole day's march. It was a disused track possibly dating back to the old days when the Arab slave-raiders traversed the greater part of Central Africa in search of "black ivory," and was now greatly overgrown by cacti and other fibrous plants. Here and there palm trees had fallen completely across the path, while in no part was it more than a yard in breadth, being hedged in on both sides by dense tropical vegetation. And yet the track was distinctly marked upon the German-compiled maps with which the British troops were working.

It was hardly a route that any European under ordinary circumstances would tackle under the glaring heat of the afternoon's sun. Mosquitoes-harbingers of malaria-and fire-flies buzzed in swarms, snakes and lizards, their hitherto undisturbed solitude rudely shaken by the stealthy patter of three score pairs of bare feet, wriggled across the swampy ground, while overhead thousands of frightened birds flew in large circles, chattering the while in a way that would alarm every Boche within a radius of three miles.

A mile and a half of this sort of marching-the Haussas were in single file-and the platoon emerged into a wider track running obliquely across the path they had taken. Halting his men Wilmshurst, assisted by Sergeant Bela Moshi, examined the ground. There were evidences that a number of European and native troops had passed, going in the opposite direction to the Waffs' bivouac, while what was somewhat remarkable there were more recent tracks of a horse's hoofs.

"Him am gov'ment horse, sah," declared the sergeant. "Him lib for go plenty fast no time," meaning that the animal was a British Army mount (this from the peculiar shape of the horse-shoe prints) and had passed by quite recently.

"Probably Sutton dispatched a mounted orderly to summon help," thought Wilmshurst. "In that case the fellow's taken the wrong track. He'll be back shortly. Hope it will be before Fritz ambles along here-if it's our luck that the Huns do retire this way."

Two hundred yards further on the scrub became quite scanty in a wide belt that terminated in a low range of hills. The slopes of the rising ground were fairly steep except at a gap in the centre, where a deep ravine had been utilized by the makers of the road. It was an ideal spot for an ambuscade. Sheltering behind the cacti that abundantly covered the hill the Haussas could extend on a fairly broad front, and concentrate a heavy fire upon any enemy retiring along the path. The maxim on its tripod mounting was set up to enable it to sweep the expected column with an oblique fire, its panther-skin encased water-jacket being camouflaged by foliage carefully placed so as not to obstruct the sights.

Hardly were these preparations completed when, with a terrific roar and a tremendous cloud of dust, an explosive missile burst within two hundred yards of the platoon's position.

"Dash it all!" ejaculated Wilmshurst. "That's a thundering big shell. Keep down, men."

The Haussas in natural and childlike curiosity were craning their necks to see the unexpected sight. Just then a loud buzzing sound came from immediately overhead. At the risk of being blinded by the terrific glare the subaltern glanced aloft to see a large seaplane that, having completed a long volplane, had restarted its engine. By the conspicuous marks on the wings and fuselage Wilmshurst made the disconcerting discovery that the aircraft was a British machine, and that it was diligently engaged in attempting to bomb the Waffs out of existence under the mistaken idea that they were an enemy patrol.

"That's done it!" muttered Wilmshurst. "The silly joker has put the kybosh on our chances of surprising the Boches. Lucky if we escape being hit with some of the infernal eggs!"

With difficulty restraining the Haussas from opening fire, for they would not be convinced that the "great buzz-bird" could possibly make a mistake, and that it must be a Boche machine, Dudley awaited developments, watching with decided apprehension the seaplane circling to take up a favourable position for another bomb-dropping effort.

The second missile burst in a donga a hundred yards to the rear of the Haussas' line, while a few seconds later a third exploded at half that distance again on the Waffs' flank.

Wilmshurst was now sarcastically interested.

"If you can't do better than that, old son," he chuckled, "you'd better hook it. My word, if ever I meet you on terra firma, I won't forget to chip you."

The ineffectual strafing continued for nearly a quarter of an hour. At the end of that time the airmen, either discovering their mistake or else having been called up by wireless to attack more numerous forces, desisted from their present operations. Banking steeply the seaplane bore away rapidly in a south-easterly direction, and was soon a mere speck in the azure sky.

Followed a long period of inaction on the part of the Haussas. Scarce daring to move lest a keen-eyed Askari should detect their presence, the Waffs hugged the sun-baked earth until the lengthening shadows warned them of the approach of night.

The distant firing had passed from rapid volleys through desultory exchange of shots to a complete cessation. The rest of "A" Company were not engaged, so it appeared to the still hopeful Haussas that their foes had effected a retreat in a different direction from that expected. With the fall of night a large hostile detachment might easily slip through the scantily-held lines, and that accounted for the uneasy glances that the Waffs gave at the declining orb of day.

"Hist, sah!" exclaimed Beta Moshi. "Dey come."

With every sense keenly on the alert Wilmshurst strove to detect the approach of the foe. Already the men had slipped clips of cartridges into the magazines of their rifles, and, the exact range being known, had set sights to eight hundred yards, at which distance the retiring Huns would be on slightly-sloping ground practically destitute of cover.

A cloud of dust rising sullenly in the still air marked the approach of the column. The Huns were moving rapidly, although there were no sounds to indicate that they were fighting a rear-guard action, while there were no signs of any advance guard.

"We've got them cold," exclaimed Wilmshurst, gleefully, then, "No. 1 Section, volley firing, ready."

Suddenly a shot rang out away on the left front of the concealed Haussas.

"Who the deuce fired that?" thought the subaltern angrily, vowing to make it hot for the luckless black who could not keep control over his itching trigger finger.

The mischief was done. At the warning shot the retiring enemy stopped short almost in the jaws of the trap that awaited them; then at a hot pace they disappeared into the bush to be swallowed up in the rapidly deepening night.

"Find out who fired that shot, sergeant," ordered Wilmshurst.

Bela Moshi's efforts were unavailing. Even when the platoon was paraded and every man's rifle examined the culprit was not discovered.

"Jolly rummy," mused the subaltern. "It's a dead cert that none of my men fired. Some one did. Why and for what reason?"

Fired with anger at the futile ending to their tedious efforts the Haussas sent a deputation to the young officer offering to search the bush in the direction from which the shot came, for the men of the extreme left flank were emphatic in their belief that they heard the sounds of booted feet after the report.

"Off you go, then," replied Wilmshurst. "Hurry back if you hear the 'Fall in.'"

The two men selected-Tari Barl and No Go-lost no time in starting upon their hazardous quest. Armed only with their bayonets the Haussas vanished into the darkness.

Another period of tension ensued. The tropical heat of the day gave place to intense cold as the parched earth rapidly radiated its heat. Presently the stars began to glimmer in the firmament, their brightness increasing to their full splendour of an African night.

Still no message came for the platoon to fall back upon the rest of "A" Company. Vaguely Wilmshurst began to wonder whether the outlying Waffs had been overlooked. Sixty hours of almost continuous and strenuous work were beginning to tell. Most of the Haussas, utterly worn out, were sleeping in easy yet undignified postures upon the ground, the only men keeping awake being Bela Moshi and the other section commander and sentries posted before Wilmshurst gave the word to stand easy.

Even the subaltern found his head drooping. Half a dozen times he pulled himself together, only to realise that the overpowering desire for sleep had him firmly in its grip.

Suddenly the stillness was broken by the cautious challenge of one of the sentries. Tari Barl and his companion were returning.

"Well?" exclaimed Wilmshurst interrogatively, as the stalwart blacks stood stiffly to attention.

"Man him gone," declared Tari Barl, with the important air of a person making a momentous statement.

"Yes, I know that, Tarry Barrel," replied the subaltern impatiently. "Is that all?"

"Me find dis in bush, sah," continued the imperturbable Haussa, holding up a small, glittering object for his officer's inspection.

It was a recently-fired rimmed cartridge-case. Holding his electric torch to the base of the case he gave vent to an exclamation of perplexed surprise.

For on it were cut the British Government broad arrow and the Roman numeral V., which showed that the cartridge was similar to those issued to the Waffs on leaving camp at Kilwa.

"Treachery!" muttered Wilmshurst. "I wonder--"