The Last Horseman (27 page)

‘Thank you. I’ll find him and take him home. I wish you well, Mrs Charteris, and hope that one day we may meet again.’

Sheenagh gathered the reins and released the handbrake. ‘Mr Pierce,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘They say we Irish are the blacks of Europe, and I’ve known a few Irishmen in my time, but I’m not that well acquainted with American gentlemen of colour. Be sure to look me up when you have a chance.’

She slapped the reins and the buggy pulled away, leaving an embarrassed Pierce to look sheepishly at Radcliffe as he climbed into the saddle.

‘Damned if you’re not old enough to be her grandfather,’ said Radcliffe.

‘Damned if I care,’ Pierce answered.

*

As Radcliffe and Pierce made their way through the town and out on to the open veld, their departure went unnoticed by the lone trooper who had been ordered to follow Sheenagh O’Connor. He waited patiently on the ridge line, chewing a strip of biltong, savouring the cured salted beef on his tongue. A man could live a while out here on the stuff, but it tasted like old boot leather when compared to a tin of bully beef made into a warm hash with peeled onions and some broken army biscuits to glue your guts together.

Trooper Marlowe wondered if his mates and Captain Belmont had snared the Dutchies yet. God knows where they were but the lads would take to killing with gusto. Their blood would be up and Belmont, the mad bastard, would be at the front, sabre in hand, cutting his way through the Boers. Lance and blade: the Dutchies hated it. Gunfire and artillery, some old
boojer
prisoner had told him, that they could deal with, but not the sabre or bayonet. Scared the bejeezus out of them, they did.

He kept his silhouette low, watching dutifully for the pretty whore to leave Bergfontein. Belmont had chosen him and that meant, in his eyes, that the captain trusted him to do his job as best as a man could do. His field telescope picked up the buggy. He kept it trained on her for a few moments, swinging the glass left and right, seeing if he could determine which direction she might go once she got to the crossroads outside the town. Straight ahead was his guess; that would take her right back to Verensberg. And then he’d have time for a beer and maybe a quick knee-trembler himself. Whores weren’t cheap for ordinary troopers, but there would be one willing to give him a couple of minutes. He didn’t need any longer. More than that you might as well marry them.

Marlowe waited. Sheenagh O’Connor had halted the buggy as if uncertain about which way to go.
Straight ahead, my lovely, c’mon now. Back where you belong.
He smiled as she whipped the horse on to the road to Verensberg. He gathered the reins and eased himself into the saddle.
All right then, m’darlin’
.
Soon be home.

*

Radcliffe’s plan was to ride towards the foothills of the mountains, cutting across the vast expanse of plain that would bring them to where the rail track meandered below the mountain slopes. Sheenagh had pinpointed the commando encampment on the map. The two men had traced their fingers along the dark line of the tracks and tried to determine where the commandos might stop the train to release what they thought to be captured Boer women and children. Both men knew that the odds were against them reaching the camp in time and that it was unlikely Pierce’s horse would be able to keep up with the Irish stallion. They had agreed that if Radcliffe went ahead then Pierce would keep going until he was in position – between five hundred yards and a mile away – to try and cover the rescue attempt as sniper with his .50-calibre Sharps. Now Pierce watched as Radcliffe’s horse galloped two hundred yards ahead. His own horse was labouring, but he kept it to a steady rhythm, willing to ride his horse to death if need be. A bizarre twist of fate had brought Edward Radcliffe close to them. They would be unlikely to have such luck bless them again. He watched the shimmering figure of his friend gain even more ground ahead of him. Damn, that horse could run.

Pierce knew they had covered more miles than a man ought to over this punishing terrain. His body ached from the horse’s efforts, his age telling on him, back muscles biting. Riding was as easy as breathing to him, but galloping across this hard, hot ground was like a slave-master whipping his back with an iron rod. He cursed the loss of his youth when he could stay in the saddle for days on end, chasing down the Sioux, the best horsemen he’d ever come across. They would ambush like a snake from beneath a log. Step too close and you’d feel their blade before you saw ’em. Was that how these Dutchmen fought? If they were hidden from view in any of those distant rocks he risked being seen for the black man he was. And an armed African in this war meant he’d be seen as their enemy. And one dead African amid the slaughter would ruffle nobody’s feathers.

How long had they been riding now? He squinted at the sun, its ball of crimson flare settling behind the black-etched crags. There would be hours of daylight left on the other side of those mountains but here the plain was cooling: shadows draping the mountainsides. He reckoned it had been at least five hours of hard riding, easing the horse as best he could, but he could feel it was beginning to falter. It had nearly stumbled twice and its flanks were sheathed in milk-white sweat. Then, suddenly, he heard the crack of bone breaking seconds after the horse’s front hoof caught a scrub-covered hole. The horse’s head dipped as it tumbled and Pierce had no chance to stop himself falling forward. He instinctively half turned, hoping he would roll when he hit the ground. It happened so fast that the horse’s momentum spun him and then a mighty fist slammed into his back, shafting pain through his lungs. The air was punched out of him and a sudden darkness fell over him. The sun’s warmth fled from his body.

*

Pierce had no idea how long he had lain unconscious. He rolled on to one side, his mind telling him that nothing was broken, but his back muscles hurt like hell and he took some time to get on to his knees and then to stand upright. Yards away his horse stood shivering in pain, its left front leg lifted from the ground. Pierce looked around him: there was no sign of anyone, and no witness to his fall. He eased his aching body towards the horse, painfully at first, murmuring comforting words to keep it as calm as possible. Its head hung low, its own agony from the broken leg holding it still.

He let the animal snuffle his hand as he pressed his pistol against its head and pulled the trigger.

Its great body dropped to the ground, quivered for a few seconds and then lay still. Pierce scanned the horizon. If Radcliffe had managed to reach the ambush site then he would need Pierce and his marksmanship as cover to exfiltrate Edward. Pierce pulled his rifle free from the saddle and slipped his water canteen over his shoulder. Ignoring the persistent pain in his back he started off on a slow but determined jog towards the distant train line.

A day’s ride to the south-east from where Radcliffe and Pierce had sipped tea, Liam’s commando rested in the lee of the hillside that afforded them protection from a direct attack and an escape route should a British patrol stumble upon them. Jackson Lee, the American volunteer, lay below the skyline on lookout, watching as the approaching horseman kicked up dust. He was getting too close for comfort and if he veered his horse in the next four hundred yards then he would be riding directly into the commando’s camp.

The American held his breath as the rider brought his horse to a halt and lifted his hat to shield his eyes from the sun. He looked left and right as if determining his course, and then spurred his horse towards the commando.

Jackson Lee instinctively ducked his head and scrambled backwards.

‘Shit,’ he muttered, and then called out to the men below: ‘Rider coming in!’

Liam’s men sprang into action. The hardship of living rough had made them quick to move in defence and they would kill any unwanted intruder rather than risk a trap being sprung on them.

‘Any others?’ Liam called to the lookout.

‘No sign,’ Lee answered.

Liam wondered if any of the British irregular troops had managed to sneak closer during the night and were ready to ambush them. Only one person knew about this hiding place and that was Sheenagh O’Connor and if she had been taken then the British might have beaten it out of her.

‘No shooting!’ Liam commanded. ‘Jackson! Stay there! Keep yer eyes peeled! Corin! Hertzog! Take him!’

Corin and the older Boer dropped their rifles and scrambled into position as the horseman slowed his mount to manoeuvre between rocky pillars that gave entry to a narrow gulley. Hertzog pulled a knife from his belt as Corin leaped forward, startling the horse which shied away, throwing its rider off balance as Hertzog reached up and pulled him down. Edward hit the ground hard. Pain shot through his back, and he was winded from the impact.

‘It’s the
rooinek
!’ Hertzog shouted, knife in hand ready to kill.

Liam was already at his shoulder, pushing him aside. ‘What the fuck is he doing here?’ He reached down and grabbed Edward’s shirtfront. ‘Boy! On yer feet!’

Edward coughed dirt and staggered dazedly to his feet.

‘What game is this? You got Englishmen following you?’ Liam demanded.

‘No, no,’ Edward said quickly, seeing that the hard-looking men would need little excuse to rid themselves of an intruder. ‘Sheenagh sent me to warn you. The British are shipping out a trainload of women and children from the camp.’

‘Today?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many are there in their escort?’ said Corin.

‘There’s only a light escort part of the way,’ said Edward. ‘Sheenagh said only as far as the refuelling depot.’

‘There’ll be the usual front and rear guard detail on the train,’ said Hertzog.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Edward said. ‘Sheenagh said it’s just the women and children. That makes sense, doesn’t it? Why guard them?’

‘Aye, mebbe so,’ said Maguire. ‘Sick women and kids wouldn’t need any kind of guarding.’ He was considering his options but his look of doubt made it plain he did not wish to stop the train.

Hertzog pulled his fingers through his beard. ‘Liam,
ons vrouens en kinders
, we can save them.’

‘God in heaven,’ said Liam. ‘We can’t be slowing ourselves down with women and children.’

The Boers gathered around their natural leader. These women and children might not be their own but they were their volk, their people. And any chance to rescue them from the hellish conditions of the camp should be taken.

‘I will send a few men with them and have them taken to safety. The British are not everywhere. Not yet. They’ll have a chance. We must give them that,’ insisted Hertzog.

‘We can’t care for women and children if they’re sick. You know that!’ argued Liam.

Edward felt the surge of anxiety running through the Boers. ‘Sheenagh has taken extra medicine, Liam. She’s gone to Bergfontein and the Englishwoman.’

‘There!’ Hertzog said. ‘We can do this and if you will not then I will take my people from the commando.’

The men voiced their support for Hertzog.

Liam knew he could not risk weakening the commando any further. ‘Aye, right enough,’ he said reluctantly. ‘We’ll use what supply wagons we have hidden for the women and children. But we’ll split the group. Front and back of the train. Just in case they’ve posted guards. Edward, you’ve done good work. Get yourself away now.’

Edward grabbed Liam’s arm as he turned away to organize the men who were already harnessing mules to the flatbed wagons. ‘Liam. Let me help. I’m a good rider, and I’m fast.’

‘You can’t help the Crown’s enemy, lad. They’ll shoot you for it if they find out.’

‘I can help rescue women and children though. I can be a courier between you two,’ he said, looking from the Irishman to Hertzog. ‘You’ll need a messenger. Give me a chance – I won’t let you down.’

‘You don’t have to prove anything to me, lad,’ said Liam. He glanced at Hertzog, who nodded. ‘All right. You ride with them.’

*

The day was long in its dying. And the Boer commando waited patiently as the heat baked into the rock face. They could endure the harshness of their own country but what they could not endure was that it should be taken from them. The late afternoon’s sunbeams speared through crocodile-spine rocks a hundred feet high that sawtoothed their way less than a mile from the rail track, their deep black shadows offering refuge from the heat for Hertzog and his men, who were to provide protection for the escape route. Once the train was hit he and the others in the divided force would escort the wagons to safety. The rail line went south from Bergfontein and skirted thirty miles to the east of Verensberg; there it passed through a refuelling depot and siding where extra rolling stock was held. The track then edged along a low mountain range for several miles; embankments shielded its journey once it had cut through the low foothills. After that it would sweep in a clear run across the rock-strewn plain. In two days it could reach deep into the Cape Colony.

As if straining against the day’s heat the slow-moving engine chugged laboriously along, hauling its carriages. Bonneted women held the open-topped boxcars’ swaying walls as the wheels click-clacked across the heat-expanded rail joints. Hertzog wedged himself between two slabs of rock, steadied his elbows and held binoculars to his face. The jagged rocks gave him and his men good cover and he had taken the Radcliffe boy with him because his group were going to take the rear of the train: if anything were to go wrong he would rather risk the brave young horseman in getting word to Maguire than any of his own men.

They heard the engine first, its efforts echoing from the concealed rock face, and then it hove slowly into view. Hertzog stared intently, waiting for the smoke to clear so he could identify the number of soldiers stationed on the front of the train. It was still more than a mile away, and the binoculars against his eyes made his face sweat. He dropped the glasses quickly and dragged a sleeve across his face. ‘
Ja
,’ he muttered to himself, satisfied at what he saw. He glanced down at the men’s upturned faces as they waited for his command. He grinned. ‘No guards at the front.’