ast," said Mr. Clifford, and they
mounted again.

Great heavens! what was this? The mare would not stir. In his despair
Mr. Clifford beat it cruelly, whereupon the poor brute hobbled forward
a few paces on three legs, and again came to a standstill. Either an
injured sinew had given or the inflammation was now so intense that it
could not bend its knee. Understanding what this meant to them, Benita's
nerve gave out at last, and she burst into weeping.

"Don't cry, love," he said. "God's will be done. Perhaps they have given
up the hunt by now; at any rate, my legs are left, and Bambatse is
not more than sixteen miles away. Forward now," and holding to her
saddle-strap they went up the long, long slope which led to the poort in
the hills around Bambatse.

They would have liked to shoot the mare, but being afraid to fire a
rifle, could not do so. So they left the unhappy beast to its fate, and
with it everything it carried, except a few of the cartridges. Before
they went, however, at Benita's prayer, her father devoted a few seconds
to unbuckling the girths and pulling off the bridle, so that it might
have a chance of life. For a little way it hobbled after them on three
legs, then, the saddle still upon its back, stood whinnying piteously,
till at last, to Benita's intense relief, a turn in their path hid it
from their sight.

Half a mile further on she looked round in the faint hope that it
might have recovered itself and followed. But no mare was to be seen.
Something else was to be seen, however, for there, three or four miles
away upon the plain behind them, easy to be distinguished in that
dazzling air, were a number of black spots that occasionally seemed to
sparkle.

"What are they?" she asked faintly, as one who feared the answer.

"The Matabele who follow us," answered her father, "or rather a company
of their swiftest runners. It is their spears that glitter so. Now,
my love, this is the position," he went on, as they struggled forward:
"those men will catch us before ever we can get to Bambatse; they are
trained to run like that, for fifty miles, if need be. But with this
start they cannot catch your horse, you must go on and leave me to look
after myself."

"Never, never!" she exclaimed.

"But you shall, and you must. I am your father and I order you. As for
me, what does it matter? I may hide from them and escape, or--at least I
am old, my life is done, whereas yours is before you. Now, good-bye,