quiet, almost a gloom, by reason of the presence of the dead man
in their midst. Still--it was the fortune of war.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

UNDER ORDERS FOR HOME.

The Kaffrarian Rangers were ordered home.

To be strictly accurate, that redoubtable corps had applied to be
withdrawn. There was not enough to do to render it worth the while of
the men who composed it--men mostly with a substantial stake in the
country--to remain any longer wasting their time in a series of
fruitless patrols on the off-chance of an occasional very long distance
shot at a stray Gcaleka scout or two; for the enemy no longer attempted
to meet them in battle. He had suffered severely, both in men and
possessions, and there were those who declared that he had had nearly
enough of it. The Frontier Armed and Mounted Police and, if necessary,
the regular troops now stationed along the border, would be sufficient
to cope with any further disturbance; so most of the volunteer forces
applied to be withdrawn.

They had been several weeks in the _veldt_--several weeks absent from
their farms and businesses. They had rendered excellent service; had,
in fact, constituted the very backbone of the offensive operations. It
was only fair, now that there remained no more to be done, to allow them
to return. Brathwaite's Horse had already withdrawn, so had most of the
mounted corps. The Kaffrarian Rangers were nearly the last.

The men were in excellent health and spirits. They had lost one of
their number--the poor young fellow who had met his fate with the patrol
under Shelton, and had been buried near where he fell--a few had
received wounds, none of these being, however, of a very serious nature.
But they had left their mark upon the enemy, and were returning,
withal, in possession of a large number of the latter's cattle. Yet
they had a grievance, or fancied they had.

They had not nearly enough fighting. The combined plan of the campaign
had not been carried out according to their liking. The enemy had been
suffered to escape just at the very moment when it was within their
power to inflict upon him a decisive and crushing blow. There had been
too much of the old womanly element among those intrusted with the
conduct of affairs. In a word, the whole business had been bungled.
And in this thoroughly characteristic and British growl none joined more
heartily than Tom Carhayes.

There was one, however, who in no wise joined in it at