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Updated: June 12, 2025
Dudley looked enquiringly at his cabin-mate, knowing that Mutton Chop was Laxdale's servant. "Oh, so that rascal's the culprit," declared Laxdale. "Didn't I say I thought so?" "Bring Mutton Chop here," ordered Wilmshurst, addressing the broadly smiling Tari Barl. The Haussa vanished, presently to reappear with almost an exact counterpart of himself.
"Looks as if a Hun four-point-one had been at work here." The "traps" of both subalterns were littering the floor in utmost confusion. Sheets, blankets and mosquito nets had been torn from the bunks, while a smashed water-bottle and glass bore testimony to the erratic onslaught of the wildly excited Laxdale. "Almost wish it had," exclaimed the harassed subaltern.
Opening the door Wilmshurst promptly ducked his head to avoid a sweeping blow with a knotted towel which his brother officer was wielding desperately and frantically. "Hullo!" exclaimed Laxdale breathlessly. "Come in and bear a hand. Hope I didn't flick you." "What's wrong?" enquired Dudley, eyeing with feelings of apprehension the sight of the disordered cabin.
"Me go, sah," replied the sergeant, and promptly he set off towards the baobab, keeping his eyes fixed upon the ground. Arriving at the tree Bela Moshi rested his rifle against the trunk and with the agility of a cat swarmed up to one of the lowermost branches. Both Laxdale and Danvers could see that it was a different part of the tree from that in which they had taken refuge.
Upon this the badly-mauled subaltern was placed and the journey resumed towards the camp, the dead lioness and her very much alive cub being carried in as trophies of the night's work. "Where's MacGregor?" asked Wilmshurst. Laxdale and Danvers exchanged enquiring glances. "Hanged if I know," said the former. "The last I saw of him was when he was making for the baobab.
Promptly Bela Moshi set the Haussas to work, and a rough-and-ready ladder having been constructed, Laxdale, little the worse for his unexpected tumble, was released from the pitfall. The journey was resumed.
"Thought I did," he replied, "but I must have been mistaken." Giving the cub into the care of Bela Moshi, Wilmshurst followed his companions as they tramped in single file along the narrow bush track, the Haussas tailing on to the end of the procession. The edge of the bush was almost reached when Laxdale, with a splendid shot at a hundred and twenty yards, brought down a large panther.
"Send a reliable officer out. I want an accurate report. Whom can you suggest?" Captain Manners pondered. "There's Mr. Spofforth, sir " "Too jolly lanky for the job," objected the colonel. "Mr. Danvers " "Took lowest marks at map-reading," continued the critical C.O. "A smart officer in every other respect." "Mr. Laxdale " "Lacks caution," declared Colonel Quarrier. "No pun intended.
Wilmshurst, picking up his revolver and reloading it, looked around for his brother subalterns. There was big Jock Spofforth in the act of putting a first-aid dressing round a bullet wound in Danvers' arm, while Laxdale was sitting on the ground and nursing his left foot. There was no time to make enquiries just then.
Thorkell Gellirson was a most learned man, and was said to be of all men the best stocked of lore. Here is the end of the Saga of the men of Salmon-river-Dale. The 'Laxdale Saga' one of the great Sagas of Iceland is herewith introduced for the first time to English readers. The translation has been made by Mrs. Muriel Press.
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