o the arms of his followers, and next instant I
heard the sound of many feet rushing in terror down the hill.
What became of him I do not know, but if he still lives, probably
he agrees with his tribesman that Macumazahn--Watcher-by-Night,
or his ghost "is a leopard who springs and kills and is gone
again"; also, that those who try to trap him meet with no luck.
I say, or his ghost--because I am sure he thought that I was a
spirit of the dead; doubtless I must have looked like one with my
white, rain-drowned face appearing there between the stones and
made ghastly and livid by the lightning.

Well, they had gone, the whole band of them, not less than thirty
or forty men, so I went also, back to the cart where I found the
others very comfortable indeed beneath the rainproof tilt.
Saying nothing of what had happened, of which they were as
innocent as babes, I took a stiff tot of brandy, for I was
chilled through by the wet, and while waiting for the moon to
rise, busied myself with getting the bits back into the horses'
mouths--an awkward job in the dark. At length it appeared in a
clear sky, for the storm had quite departed and the rain ceased.
As soon as there was light enough I took the near leader by the
bridle and led the cart to the brow of the hill, which was not
easy under the conditions, making Kaatje follow with my horse.

Then, as there were no signs of any Basutos, we started on again,
I riding about a hundred yards ahead, keeping a sharp look-out
for a possible ambush. Fortunately, however, the veld was bare
and open, consisting of long waves of ground. One start I did
get, thinking that I saw men's heads just on the crest of a wave,
which turned out to be only a herd of springbuck feeding among
the tussocks of grass. I was very glad to see them, since their
presence assured me that no human being had recently passed that
way.

All night long we trekked, following the Kaffir path for as long
as I could see it, and after that going by my compass. I knew
whereabouts the drift of the Crocodile River should be, as I had
crossed it twice before in my life, and kept my eyes open for a
certain tall koppie which stood within half a mile it on the Swazi
side of the river. Ultimately to my joy I caught sight of this hill
faintly outlined against the sky and headed for it. Half a mile
further on I struck a wagon-track made by Boers trekking into
Swazi-Land to trade or shoot. Then I knew that the drift was