Rhodesians and blacks worked together to dig a trench and construct a parapet. It was a strenuous task, for in order to give as much s.p.a.ce as possible to the already congested defenders the new defence work had been pushed as far forward as the strength of the flames permitted.

The while desultory long-distance firing was indulged in by the discomfited foe, the bullets pinging against the hard ground or flying with a sharp "siss" overhead.

While this work was in progress the corporal hurried up and addressed Wilmshurst.

"Your n.i.g.g.e.r sergeant's. .h.i.t, sir," he reported.

The subaltern made his way to the spot where the machine-gun had been placed out of the line of hostile fire, since a single bullet might put it out of action. Lying upon the ground with his head propped against the ammunition box was Bela Moshi.

The Haussa was barely conscious. He recognised his young officer and gave a determined but ineffective attempt to smile. Already one of the men had cut away Bela Moshi's tunic, revealing a bullet wound on the right side of the chest. Even as Dudley placed his water-bottle to the sergeant's lips the Haussa's eyes closed and he lost consciousness.

"What do you make of it?" asked Dudley, addressing the man attending to the patient.

"He's as like to snuff it, sir," he replied. "Can't tell exactly--and it's a tough job to tackle with only a field-service dressing."

"When was he hit?" continued the subaltern.

"That's a mystery, sir," was the answer. "We'd brought the gun under cover--there wasn't a chance of being hit by direct fire, you'll understand--and the black seemed to crumple up suddenly. Never said a word, but just pitched on his face. I'll do my level best for him, sir."

Leaving his water-bottle--and water was a scarce commodity, as the supply within the kraal had been overrun by the fire--Dudley made his way to the gap in the palisade, where other units were hard at work digging a ditch across the exposed opening. Here he came face to face with his brother, whose left arm was bandaged and in a sling.

"Copped it, you see, Dudley," remarked Rupert. "If there's any trouble knocking about I'm bound to stand in. But I guess I did my whack before I was knocked out," he added grimly. "Managed to work off sixty rounds, and when we started I found myself wondering if I had the strength to pick up a rifle."

"What have you got?" asked his brother.

"Bayonet thrust," was the reply. "We were jammed up anyhow, but the fellow who gave it me won't try the trick on any one else. Have you any water?"

Dudley shook his head.

"Sorry," he replied.

"Seems a scarcity of it," continued Rupert. "All the men's water-bottles are bone-dry, and it's hot work tackling a kraal fire.

The n.i.g.g.e.rs, too, are clamouring for water."

"The fire's burning itself out, I fancy," remarked Dudley. "Before dawn we ought to be able to get to the well. Now I must do my whack."

Taking a spade of native workmanship from the hands of an exhausted trooper the subaltern set to work with a will, for much had to be done in a very short s.p.a.ce of time. It was a case of excavating under extreme difficulties, for apart from the smoke and heat from the blazing huts bullets were dropping frequently and at random upon that part of the kraal still held by the hard-pressed but as yet unconquerable garrison.

Throughout the rest of the night the enemy made no attempt to renew the a.s.sault. With the dawn the worst of the task of shortening the line was accomplished, and the jaded men threw themselves down to rest, until every available position immune from rifle fire was covered with khaki and black figures sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion.

There was little rest for Dudley Wilmshurst and the patrol-commander.

Having visited the sentries they examined the defences in order to discover if there were any weak points that had escaped notice during the hours of darkness.

With the exception of half a dozen huts every building comprising the kraal was reduced to a heap of charred wood and ashes, from which smoke was rising sullenly in the still air. The stockade adjoining had shared the same fate, and had it not been for the earthworks constructed during the night the rear of the defences would have been completely open to direct rifle fire. At present the heat of the smouldering embers was too great to allow any attempt to procure water from the well that was situated almost in the centre of the kraal, close to the site of the headman's hut.

The captured machine gun was still under cover, ready to be rushed to any point where an attack might develop, but the trouble that confronted the team was the fact that the water in the jacket had evaporated and no more was at present procurable. The supply of rifle ammunition, too, was running perilously short. In view of the liability of the machine gun to jam after a few rounds, Wilmshurst would have had no hesitation in using the cartridges from the belt had the gun been a Maxim. But here he was beaten, for the difference in British and German small-arms ammunition makes an interchange impossible.

The next best thing was to arrange existing stocks, so that a few troopers had plenty of .303 ammunition. The others, supplying themselves with rifles and cartridges taken from the hundreds of German dead, were then in a position to give a good account of themselves should the enemy again attack at close quarters.

Having completed his present duties Wilmshurst made his way to the hut where Bela Moshi had been taken after his wound had been dressed. The building, consisting of bamboo walls and palm-leaf thatch, had been converted into a hospital and made bullet proof by piling up earth against the sides to a height of about six feet. Above that the bamboos and the roof were riddled with bullets, making it a hazardous business for any one to stand upright.

In the limited s.p.a.ce were two Rhodesians suffering from gunshot wounds.

Almost every other man of the patrol had been hit, but one and all made light of their injuries, and after receiving attention had resumed their places in the defence. Over thirty villagers had been badly wounded, but these were receiving the attention of their fellows, since, for some unexplained reason, they were reluctant to have their wounds dressed by their white allies.

"Going on famously, sir," announced the Rhodesian corporal, who, having played a gallant part in the defence, had returned to his errand of mercy. "I've extracted the bullet; it had lodged only a quarter of an inch under the skin and close to the right of his backbone. I don't fancy the lungs are touched. He'll pull through if any of us do."

"That's great!" exclaimed Wilmshurst, overjoyed that his devoted Haussa sergeant stood a good chance of recovery. "You ought to have been a doctor, corporal."

"I was very near it, sir," was the reply. "Had two years at Bart's and then chucked up the idea and came to Rhodesia. But this is somewhat remarkable; what do you make of it, sir?"

The corporal held up for inspection the bullet that had narrowly escaped putting an end to Bela Moshi.

"Automatic pistol bullet, by Jove!" exclaimed the subaltern, handling the piece of nickel.

"Yes, sir," continued the corporal, "and the Haussa has been muttering while he was coming to. Putting two and two together, so to speak, I fancy he stopped the bullet that grazed our sergeant's ear when we were bringing in the gun."

"Ah, yes; Bela Moshi did fall, but he was quickly on his feet again,"

remarked Wilmshurst.

"With a bullet that had all but just pa.s.sed completely through his body," added the Rhodesian. "And after that he acted as a platform--he had a man standing on his shoulders for nearly a quarter of an hour--and only collapsed after the attack had been broken. There's vitality and pluck for you, sir!"

"And if we come out of this business alive I'll see that Bela Moshi's case is reported to the proper quarter," declared Dudley.

"The only thing against him is the want of water," said the corporal.

"I'd risk getting plugged for the sake of a couple of bottles of water.

How about the well, sir?"

"We're having a shot at it as soon as possible," replied the subaltern, and picking up his water-bottle, he left the hut.

The urgency of the matter decided Dudley. If humanly possible he meant to make the attempt forthwith. A glance at the still smouldering debris told him pretty plainly that it was a dangerous if not impossible undertaking, but for the sake of his Haussa sergeant the subaltern determined to procure the precious fluid.

He sought out his brother, but Rupert was sound asleep. Rupert was the only person he wanted to inform of his projected expedition, but that course was denied him.

With the bottle slung across his shoulder and a native jar--holding about a gallon--in each hand, Dudley leapt into the trench and scaled the parapet before the few men who were in the vicinity were aware of his intention. Then drawing a deep breath, like a diver about to make a plunge, he dashed into the belt of smoke-laden air.

At every pace his boots kicked up showers of white ashes. The heat penetrated the thick soles, it singed his hair and scorched his face and hands. He felt himself wondering why he was such a fool as to try conclusions with a ma.s.s of hot embers ... why wasn't he content to wait another two hours or so, when the heat would have greatly decreased.

Supposing he lost his bearings in the smoke and couldn't find the well after all?

These and a dozen other deprecatory thoughts flashed across his mind as he stumbled onwards. He had had but a brief knowledge of the plan of the kraal previous to the fire. He remembered that the well stood in the centre of a fairly open s.p.a.ce. There, at any rate, would he find a comparatively safe oasis in the desert of hot embers.

"By Jove, that was a narrow one!" he soliloquised as a bullet--one of many shot at a venture--whizzed dangerously close to his ears and knocked up a number of small fouga.s.ses as it ricochetted in the embers.

He wanted to breathe. Already the air was on the point of being exhausted in his lungs, yet he durst not gasp for breath. Another twenty yards ... or was it forty? He was hardly sure of his whereabouts.... Mentally he enquired if he had been making a detour instead of keeping in a straight line. Maintaining direction in a haze of smoke was far more difficult, he reflected, than in a fog, especially when there was a time limit fixed for the performance.

Almost before he was aware of it Wilmshurst literally blundered upon an open expanse where the short gra.s.s had been burnt off close to the ground. Surrounded by a barrage of bluish vapour that rose from irregular mounds of debris, the subaltern was able to breathe comparatively fresh air.

Ahead was the well, its windla.s.s of hard teak charred but otherwise uninjured. It was a different case with the rope. The fibre had smouldered badly; it would be unwise to attempt to raise the heavy bucket by it.

Cutting adrift a length of the coir rope the subaltern bent it to the neck of one of the jars and drew up the vessel full of liquid. The water was loathsome in appearance, its surface being covered with ash and fragments of charcoal of various sizes. Prudence, as taught by long months of practical experience on the Coast, urged the young officer to resist the desire to slake his burning thirst. No water unless boiled and filtered can be drunk by Europeans without grave risks of deadly disease. But Wilmshurst now threw caution to the winds.