Death on a Pale Horse Read Free Page B

orders.”
    â€œSupposing his lordship ain’t back this side of dark?”
    â€œHe will be.”
    â€œSupposin’ he ain’t?”
    Pulleine made no reply.
    â€œAll right.” Strickland had moved so that he was now almost blocking the tent-opening with his bulk. “Then supposing I was just to ride my men out. Shoot us in the back, would you?”
    Pulleine swung round.
    â€œI’ll do better than that, Mr. Strickland. I’ll court-martial you!”
    Strickland laughed as if it was the best thing he had heard in months.
    â€œNo, you won’t, Pulleine. Not me. I ain’t one of your regimental flunkeys. Court-martial me? If you was to do that, my friend, you wouldn’t get back over the Buffalo River alive. There’s fifty men ’d see to that.”
    Strickland showed the manner which had served him so well in the Durban markets and the diamond mining settlements of the Transvaal.
    â€œI’ll tell you what though, Colonel. I’ll go half way with you. We’ll take a patrol along the north plateau presently. No further. From there, we can survey the front of the Conical Kopje and see the back of it. We’ll sit quietly there until Lord Chelmsford comes back safe. After that, we’ll press on. Not before.”
    Pulleine hesitated, but Strickland gave him no respite.
    â€œGive our fellows a square deal, Pulleine, or I shan’t be answerable for ’em. I daresay this stolen regimental mascot nonsense is up to one of them. I’ll give you that. But let them alone and there’s enough in a quick swoop to keep them happy for a month or two.”
    Pulleine hesitated. Long years of military command had accustomed him to deference and dignity. Men of Strickland’s cut were beyond him. How far did his authority extend over this civilian riff-raff?
    â€œVery well, Mr. Strickland. The northern plateau and no further. You will take the heliograph. You will respond to all signals flashed from this camp. In the event of a recall being sounded, you will return at once.”
    Strickland pushed aside the tent flap, still grinning. Presently the bearded mercenaries of Pulleine’s Lambs rode two by two towards the north plateau, escorted by Captain Shepstone of Durnford’s mounted detail. They passed the forward line and a red-coated picket of the 24th Foot, commanded by Lieutenant Pope. Presently they caught up with a mounted vedette of the Natal Cavalry on the eastern slope.
    Heat had stunned the plain into silence and stillness. At the western end of the camp, under the great rock itself, the lines between the tents were now almost deserted. Far out across the plain, the pickets and vedettes of the forward posts wilted in the glare. The rocket-battery with its trough-like launchers was almost level with the Conical Kopje as it approached the camp. On the eastern hills and the Malagata range to the south, there was still no sign of Lord Chelmsford’s column.
    The mercenary riders of the Natal Volunteers had begun to pick their way leisurely through the fierce light that shone back from pale stone ridges. They were across the dry and broken course of the river donga, its boulders scattered along the plain from north to south.
    Presently they were far enough forward to look down on the approaches to the Kopje. As they dismounted to wait for Chelmsford’s return, it was possible to see through field-glasses from the camp that Strickland, distinguished by the white band round his wide-awake hat, remained on his horse. Perhaps in the stillness he was puzzled by that strange, unaccountable buzzing of a vast army of bees.
    Presently he could be seen dismounting cautiously and guiding his horse to the sharp edge of the ravine, where it dropped to the level of the lower hills. He walked alone to the lip of the rift, stood on the edge where the ground sloped away, and looked into the narrow gorge.
    A moment later, he was seen with his foot in the