Tom’s men dashed after them in a flush of enthusiasm; among the pursuers none were nimbler or more excited than the captured askaris. Tom shouted to them to take the fugitives prisoners, and not to use their weapons except against those who resisted. As for himself, he put every ounce of what little energy remained to him into the chase of the German officer, who, finding himself deserted by his men, had shown a clean pair of heels. Tom was up with him before he gained the forest. The German, aware that he was outrun, suddenly swung round and half raised his arm to fire his revolver. But he was a shade too late. Tom hurled himself upon him with all the impetus gained in his sprint across the clearing, struck the revolver from his hand with his left fist, and with his right dealt the officer a smashing blow on the chin that sent him headlong backward with a crash. Leaving him to be picked up by some of the older and less fleet-footed of the negroes, Tom hurried on towards the sounds of firing. He had no need to go far. Fugitives from the nullah had reached their comrades, who were falling back before a force of white men and Rhodesian police advancing on a wide front. Realising that they were between two fires, the enemy gave up the hopeless struggle, and scattered to right and left, seeking safety in the pathless forest. The firing ceased, and within ten minutes of leaving the nullah Tom was grasping the hand of a tall bronzed Englishman who bore a major’s crown upon his sleeve. "Tom Willoughby, I suppose," said that officer, looking with a quizzical smile into the tired brown eyes on a level with his own. "You’re Major Burnaby?" "Yes. A nice little scoop, eh? Now, we’ve no time to lose. Take me to your nullah. Your people must trek at once. We’ve cut the wires on the Neu Langenburg road. Two detachments half a mile apart are holding a place clear for our crossing. With luck we’ll get through before they send up troops from Bismarckburg. But we must hurry." CHAPTER XXI--WILLOUGHBY’S SCOUTS