The police waited in the heat, listening to the distant crackle of gunfire.
“What’s the to-do?” Smith cantered to Andrew with his forage hat pushed to the back of his head, puffing smoke from his pipe. “I thought Chalmers would bring the boys up.”
“We’re waiting for Ayliff’s Fingoes, Sergeant,” Andrew said.
“Are we, now?” Smith said. “By the time they arrive, the Galekas will have massacred half of Fingoland.” He shrugged. “Not that it’s any of my concern, but the women and children might feel a little miffed.”
“Here they come now, Sergeant,” Hitchings said.
The Fingoes marched or rode up the track, seemingly in no hurry to fight the invading Galekas. Some were dressed in cast-off European clothing, others in the traditional native blanket, while a few wore a mixture of both. While a
