9. THE MASKED ROBBER PREVAILS

Chapter 1

The evening breeze blows cool against the faces of the two men sitting motionless on the black horses. Animal and rider blend into the darkness, disappearing among the bushes. The only movement is the flickering of the horses' ears and the long tails gently swaying in the breeze. But even this creates the impression of delicate leaves rustling in the gentle wind.

Both riders are dressed in tight-fitting shirts and trousers. Black gloves and sandals cover their hands and feet. Black masks cover their eyes. They stand on the slope of a low hill, so that even their dark figures are not visible against the sky.

They listen attentively. Then they hear the sound of hooves on the hard road winding through the valley just in front of them. The sound is coming from the direction of Stellenbosch.

"That must be them, Jean," says the rider closest to that side, gently nudging the reins against the neck of the black mare beneath him to prevent the animal from neighing.

"I hope so, Andre," replies the other. "One gets stiff from sitting still."

"We will have to get closer to see properly," Andre suggests.

"On foot then," Jean answers. "We will leave the horses here."

They slip out of the saddle and silently descend the hill until they are right beside the road. They crouch behind two low bushes and wait patiently.

Two figures emerge from the darkness. The riders pass by them at a leisurely pace.

"Those must be the scouts," Andre remarks.

They can feel the pounding of hooves in the damp earth beneath them. Every sense in them is sharp and alert.

A group of about twelve riders goes by. They ride in single file, deep in the muddy tracks.

"He is in the middle of the group." It is Andre speaking again. "His hands are tied behind his back."

"I have seen it, yes," comes the dry reply. "His feet are also bound under the horse's belly."

"They are guarding him closely, are they not?" Andre suggests.

"It is the tension in the air," Jean calmly replies. "It is the result of injustice and violence. When a government feels unsafe, it acts harshly when someone speaks against it."

He remains silent. The sound of the horses' hooves fades away on one side, but from the other side, others draw closer.

"That is the rear guard."

"How many of them?"

"It sounds like two. If there were two in the front, there probably would not be more than two at the back."

"Should we let them pass, Jean, or...?"

"No. You stay here, Andre. I will sneak over."

He does not explain further. The dark figure silently slides out from behind the bush and disappears like a shadow on the other side of the road.

The voices of the approaching riders are muffled but clearly audible. They sound at ease.

"If we had left earlier, we would have been there by now," grumbles one. "What difference does it make? The distance is still the same."

"It is midnight before we arrive in Cape Town. Then most of the places are already closed. After a boring day like today, I feel like going out and having some fun."

"A good night's rest will do you good."

"I sleep enough," he sighs. "Well, a soldier's life is a dog's life. Especially in a country where unrest always threatens. Anyway, I do not believe half of the stories. Every time a miserable peasant opens his mouth too wide, everyone screams treason. Every person surely has an opinion. Where in the world have you ever heard of a government that had the full support of every dear member of the population! And who has to bear the brunt in the end? Us, the poor officials of the state. We have to work until who knows how late at night..."

The words freeze in his throat. He tries to shout, but he cannot send a single sound through his vocal cords. The steel spring clasped around his throat presses his larynx.

It happened so unexpectedly that his confused mind cannot form the faintest impression of his attacker. He is only aware of the pressure around his neck, and then he feels the iron grip closing over his hand on the reins. The horse jerks once beneath him but then continues to walk steadily as if the animal is aware that a masterful hand now controls it.

The soldier tries in vain to turn his head. He rolls his eyes and sees the black arm and hand piercing through from behind and stretching over the red sleeve of his jacket. There is someone on the saddle of the horse behind him.

It dawns on him that his comrade must have surely seen what happened. Why did he not shout or warn him then? He turns his eyes in that direction, and with a slight shock, he sees the black figure on the other soldier's horse. They are both in the same position. Their attackers must have silently jumped onto the horses from behind and grabbed them simultaneously. There is suddenly cold sweat on his forehead because the soundlessness with which everything has taken place evokes ominous and fearful thoughts in him.

A sense of contact with the supernatural takes hold of him, and he trembles like a reed.

But then he is brought back to reality. In his ear is the muffled voice that reassures him that it is indeed a human being who has assaulted him.

"Keep your hand still on the reins, friend. Let the horse just walk like that."

The soldier would not have been able to move anyway, even if he wanted to. He does not know the purpose of the command. The grip around his throat remains unchanged, but he feels how the other hand is being taken away from his.

A moment later, and without the slightest warning, a hard blow strikes him behind his head. It turns black before his eyes, and he feels himself tumbling forward.

But he is unconscious when the black figure effortlessly lifts him out of the saddle and gently lowers him to the side of the road. He is unaware of the sudden silence in the roadway, where even the pounding of the horse hooves has come to a halt.

"That was easier than I thought, Andre," Jean remarks as he slides off the animal's back and lands lightly on his feet. "You are still quick, old man."

"Old man," grumbles Andre indignantly. "There are quite a few things I can teach you."

"Most likely," Jean replies with a chuckle. But then he sighs. "It is a pity we had to knock them out, but there was no other way."

He throws the horse's reins over a bush. His tall, agile figure bends over the unconscious soldier.

"Just strip off their jackets and trousers, Andre. That will be enough. Pull the hat down low over your eyes."

He throws the jacket over his shoulders and then puts on the soldier's knee-length pants but leaves the saddlebags and the boots. In the darkness, their legs would not be easily visible against the horses' flanks. Then he is back in the saddle. He only needs to wait a moment for Andre.

"We are approaching a gallop," he commands calmly. "If they might have heard that we stopped for a while, it will be easy to explain that we wanted to listen to what is coming up behind us."

"What might be coming?" Andre inquires.

"Nothing, as you can hear for yourself," Jean dryly retorts. "But that is not the information we are going to proclaim to the main force now. Come." As usual, he sets off without further explanations. He knows that Andre will follow him, that he will react to a single word or the slightest movement. He can trust him completely.

Their hearing is sharp. It has developed through long years of an adventurous existence where they could expect death around every corner and turn. They are aware of the group of riders ahead of them even before they can see them. And clearly, they hear the outcry.

"Riders are approaching from behind, Captain!"

"Who is it?" the officer anxiously wants to know.

"I do not know. It is... it is the Kannemeyer gang. Who is coming there!?" he nevertheless loudly finds out, as if he believes that the preceding conversation could not be heard by the approaching riders.

"Kannemeyer," Jean answers, his voice hoarse and flat, imitating one of the soldiers he heard speaking when he and Andre were still hiding in the bushes next to the road. "A group of riders is chasing after us at a furious pace," he announces and when he reins in his horse, he and Andre have already passed the rear soldiers.

"How many of them are there?" the officer now asks tensely. "Do not know," Jean curtly replies.

"Then we must make tracks!" the captain bellows. "Forward at full gallop!"

Jean and Andre are on either side of the prisoner. He is between the two rows of soldiers in the middle of the roadway. But there are no mounted troops on the same level on either side of him because the road is too narrow. Where Jean had dashed through the bushes, he now pulls his horse inward. He kicks a soldier who had just stabbed his horse with his spurs, causing the animal to rear up on its hind legs. Jean races past right under his nose.

He leans over and grabs the reins of the horse on which the young farmer is tied. At that moment, a soldier from the other side delivers a hard blow to the horse's crotch. He naturally responded to the captain's command, and since the prisoner would not be able to get the horse moving on his own, he did it for him.

This suits Jean perfectly because immediately the frightened animal swerves away with him. He heads through the field between Jean and Andre, who had fallen on the other side.

"Can you not...