A few moments more a score of horsemen appeared on the nek, and rode straight into their midst without drawing rein. A largely built man with a full brown beard was riding at their head.
“Maagtig! It is Stephanus De la Rey!” was muttered from mouth to mouth. Aletta heard it, at the same time that she recognised her father.
“We are safe, sweetheart,” she murmured, beginning to tremble now that danger was over, as she supposed. “I said you should not die. Yes, God is good. We are safe now.”
But those there assembled had not reached the limit of their surprises for that day yet. The party consisted of about a score of armed Boers who had volunteered to accompany Stephanus De la Rey to Schoeman’s camp, but riding beside Stephanus was one who was not a Boer, being none other than Frank Wenlock, the escaped prisoner.
The burghers crowded around the new arrivals, the general feeling being that of intense relief. For now that the original offender was recaptured, there was no need to shoot this other.
“Where was he caught? Who captured him?” were some of the questions showered upon the party.
“Nobody captured me,” replied Frank, in a loud clear voice. “I have come in of my own accord, because I heard—no matter how—that Colvin was to be shot instead of me. So I came back as quickly as I could, and seem to be only just in time.”
“Is that true, brother De la Rey?” said Schoeman.
Stephanus assured them it was. Frank had joined him entirely of his own accord.
“You were to have been shot at sunrise yesterday morning, and it is past sunrise this morning,” went on Schoeman, turning to Frank. “It is you or the man yonder. Are you prepared to undergo our judgment on you?”