, by this time, the horizon was dim with clouds of black smoke
which went up from burning farms and plundered homesteads. The smoke did
not rise high; it hung sullenly over the hot plain in long smouldering
masses, like the smoke of steamers on foggy days in England. The sun was
nearing the horizon; his slant red rays lighted up the red plain, the
red sand, the brown-red grasses, with a murky, spectral glow of crimson.
After those red pools of blood, this universal burst of redness appalled
one. It seemed as though all nature had conspired in one unholy league
with the Matabele. We rode on without a word. The red sky grew redder.

"They may have sacked Salisbury!" I exclaimed at last, looking out
towards the brand-new town.

"I doubt it," Hilda answered. Her very doubt reassured me.

We began to mount a long slope. Hilda pedalled with difficulty. Not a
sound was heard save the light fall of my pony's feet on the soft new
road, and the shrill cry of the cicalas. Then, suddenly, we started.
What was that noise in our rear? Once, twice, it rang out. The loud ping
of a rifle!

Looking behind us, we saw eight or ten mounted Matabele! Stalwart
warriors they were--half naked, and riding stolen horses. They were
coming our way! They had seen us! They were pursuing us!

"Put on all speed!" I cried, in my agony. "Hilda, can you manage it?"
She pedalled with a will. But, as we mounted the slope, I saw they were
gaining upon us. A few hundred yards were all our start. They had the
descent of the opposite hill as yet in their favour.

One man, astride on a better horse than the rest, galloped on in front
and came within range of us. He had a rifle in his hand, he pointed it
twice, and covered us. But he did not shoot. Hilda gave a cry of relief.
"Don't you see?" she exclaimed. "It is Oom Jan Willem's rifle! That was
their last cartridge. They have no more ammunition."

I saw she was probably right; for Klaas was out of cartridges, and was
waiting for my new stock to arrive from England. If that were correct,
they must get near enough to attack us with assegais. They are more
dangerous so. I remembered what an old Boer had said to me at Buluwayo:
"The Zulu with his assegai is an enemy to be feared; with a gun, he is a
bungler."

We pounded on up the hill. It was deadly work, with those brutes at our
heels. The child on Hilda's arm was visibly wearying her. It kept on
whining. "Hilda," I cried, "that baby will lose your life!