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Updated: June 12, 2025
"An' let the bounder go scot-free?" added Laxdale, a gleam of grim determination in his eyes. "No jolly fear. We'll lay him out properly. Here you are, take this." He handed Wilmshurst a towel roller made of teak, forming a heavy and effective weapon. "This is where I think the brute's hiding," continued Laxdale, indicating a long drawer under the lowermost bunk.
With luck we'll corner them on the Zambesi." "Guess you're wrong, Danvers," interrupted Laxdale. "I know how the business is going to end; street fighting in Cape Town. Fritz won't stand, so it's an everlasting chase until he's got the sea at his back." "Any one seen MacGregor this morning?" enquired Wilmshurst. "MacGregor?
Then with a sharp shudder the animal stretched herself and died, while the subaltern, utterly exhausted, lay inertly upon the ground, his rent sleeve stained with still spreading dark patches. By that time Laxdale and Danvers were upon the scene. Temporary bandages were applied to Spofforth's ugly-looking wounds, while the greatly concerned Haussas improvised a litter made of rifles and coats.
It would be a difficult matter for a stranger to tell the difference between the two natives. "What d'ye mean, you black scoundrel, by putting a rat into my traps?" demanded Laxdale. "No did put, sah; him lib for come one time," expostulated Laxdale's servant. "Me play, 'Come to cook-house door, den him catchee." Producing a small native flute Mutton Chop began to play a soft air.
In the floor of the pit pointed stakes had been driven, but fortunately Laxdale had fallen between them and thus escaped being impaled. His sole companion was a goat that, left without food and water, was to act as a decoy to the lions. Evidently the pitfall had been recently dug, otherwise the spoor of the beasts would not be visible on both sides of it.
"It's my tunic, remember," protested Dudley firmly as he pushed his brother-officer aside. Just then the door opened, and Spofforth, another member of the "Lone Star Crush" appeared, enquiring, "What's all the row about, you fellows? Scrapping?" "Shut that door!" exclaimed Laxdale hurriedly. "Either in or out, old man."
With rifle, bayonet and bomb the plucky sons of the Empire manned the frail defences, until the enemy, unable to achieve their objective, retired before the returning battalion could bring them to action. "Hullo, Wilmshurst!" exclaimed Laxdale, as the three subalterns of "A" company met just before a belated breakfast. "What happened to you?" "A wash-out," replied Dudley.
It might have been efficacious if the subaltern had been engaging in apiarian operations, but as far as present events went it was a "frost." "Tilt it, old man," suggested Laxdale. Wilmshurst carried out this suggestion only too well. The bath, slipping from its supporting fixtures, clattered noisily to the floor, its edge descending heavily upon Dudley's foot.
Gradually their haunted expression gave place to a look of bewilderment, until he realised that he was surrounded by friends. "By smoke!" he ejaculated. "I had cold feet with a vengeance and before a lot of niggers, too." "So did we that is, Danvers and I were in a mortal hurry to get out of the way of the lioness," rejoined Laxdale.
Again a momentary vision of the leaping rodent, then, crash! With a mighty sweep of the tower-roller Laxdale demolished the electric-light globe into a thousand fragments. "Getting on," he remarked cheerfully. "There'll be a big bill for 'barrack damages' eh, what? Where's the brute?"
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