Chapter 26 | The Night Attack | Diamond Dyke

For a few moments Dyke could not collect himself sufficiently to speak, but stared at the black figure leaning over him, with what seemed to be a heavy club, while the shadow cast by the feeble lamp upon the wall to his left looked prodigious.

“Get up! Come!” was whispered in his ear, and he felt the stout cudgel pressed upon his legs. “You, Tant?” he faltered. “Oomps. Jump. Jack come. Jack tief.”

“What!” cried Dyke springing up, half-dressed, as he had lain down.

“Shoo!” whispered the woman. “Bring gun, shoot.”

“You want me to shoot Jack?”

“Oomps. Wagon. Kaffirs take all mealies.”

“You’re a pretty sort of a wife,” thought Dyke, as he caught up his loaded gun from the corner, and wondered that the dog had not stirred.

Just then Tanta Sal touched his arm, pointed to the light, and made a puffing sound with her lips.

“Put it out?” he whispered.

She nodded, and Dyke turned down the wick, so that the place was only lit up by the pale rays of the moon.

“Where are they?” whispered Dyke. “At the wagon?”

“No, not come; Jack come say Tant Sal go ’way to-night ’long o’ Jack. Gone fetch Kaffir, carry mealies. Come.”

She took his arm tightly and led him to the door, which he found ajar, and as soon as they were outside she closed it after them.

“Stop a moment. Let’s have the dog.”

“No: dog make noise, and Jack top. Come.”

The woman led him to the wagon, and mounting on to the box, opened the canvas and crept in silently, while the boy hesitated to follow.

Suppose it was a trap, and Tanta had her husband and two or three men in waiting there.

“Absurd!” he thought the next moment. “Why should they hurt me? They could have robbed the wagon without.”

Mounting then quickly, he felt his arm seized, and he was half drawn into the wagon, where all was black on one side, while the canvas tilt showed faintly in the moonlight on the other.

Dyke was just able to make out that the woman was watching by the canvas, which hung over the front; then she reached back to him.

“Jack say try kill Baas Dyke, but dog come. Kill Baas Dyke some day.”

“That’s nice,” whispered the boy. “What for?”

“Jack tief. Want wagon, want horse, want all.”

“Then it’s war,” said Dyke, “and he shan’t have them.”

“Shoo!” whispered the woman, and she leaned forward with her head half out of the opening. Then turned quickly.

“Jack come, Jack one, Jack one, Jack one.”

“Four of them?” whispered Dyke.

“Oomps. Baas Dyke shoot.”

The boy pressed the triggers as he drew up the cocks of his piece, so that the clicking made was extremely faint, and then stood ready and expectant. But he had not long to wait. For almost directly there was a dull sound as of footsteps; a heavy breathing, and hands tugged at the tightly fastened canvas at the back of the wagon. Then there was a low whispering. Whoever it was passed along to the front of the wagon, and then there was a heavy breathing as the visitors swung themselves up on to the wagon-box, Dyke judging from the sounds that either three or four people had climbed up. Then the canvas was dragged back, and as Dyke pointed his gun, hesitating about firing, and then deciding to shoot overhead to startle the marauders, one crept in.

At that moment there was a whizz and the sound of a tremendous blow, followed by a loud yell of pain and a perfect shower of blows delivered with wonderful rapidity upon the attacking party, who sprang out and fell from the wagon front.

It was all almost momentary, and then Dyke was leaning out through the canvas, and fired twice at random.

“It won’t hit, only frighten them,” he thought; and then he turned cold, for at the second report there was a yell, the sound of a fall, a scuffling noise, and a series of cries almost such as would be uttered by a dog, and growing more and more distant, as the boy listened, feeling convinced that he had shot Duke.

Tanta Sal was of a different opinion.

“Dat Jack,” she said, laughing softly. “Jack tief. No come kill Tant now.”

Dyke was silent for a few moments. He was thinking about what cartridges he had placed in his gun, and remembered that they were Number 6, which he had intended for the guinea-fowl.

“Those wouldn’t kill him,” he muttered, “and he was a long way off.”

“No get mealies now,” said the woman, interrupting the boy’s musings. “Baas Dyke go bed?”

“Stop! suppose they are waiting?” whispered Dyke.

“Wait? What for?” she replied. “No. All run away. No come now.”

She climbed out on to the box and held the canvas aside for Dyke to follow, which he did, and then tied the opening up again, and leaped down to stand listening to the dog’s barking within the house.

“Tant go sleep,” said the woman; and she hurried off, while Dyke opened the door for the dog to bound out growling, and ready to rush off at a word, but Dyke called him in and shut the door, fastening it now; the fact of the dog sleeping inside being, he thought, sufficient protection—the coming of the woman not being noticed by Duke, who, of course, set her down as a friend.

But Dyke did not lie down for some time after assuring himself that the noise had not roused his brother from his heavy sleep. The boy was uneasy about the woman. She had told him that Jack had threatened to kill her. Suppose he came back now with his companions to take revenge upon her for betraying their plans.

“She wouldn’t know,” he said to himself, after carefully weighing the matter over in his mind, to decide that they would be afraid to come again after such a reception.

So, concluding at last that the woman would be quite safe, Dyke reloaded his gun, placed it ready, and lay down once more, conscious of the fact now that the dog was awake and watchful.

Five minutes after he was asleep, and did not wake till the Kaffir woman came and tapped at the door, to show him, with a look of triumph, four assegais left behind by the visitors of the past night.

“Dat Jack,” she said, holding up one. “Dose oder fellow.”

“Will they come for them?”

“No. Jack no come again. Get other wife. Tant Sal don’t want any more.”