No sooner thought out than acted upon. With beating heart she stood within the room. It was as it had been left—crockery in a semi-washed state; utensils lying about; and—her pulses gave a throb of joy—there on a table stood a pie-dish, containing about half of a cold pie. Beside it, too, were three boiled mealie-cobs. The latter she placed in the empty half of the dish, and, laden with this most opportune spoil, she went outside, and having gently closed the door, took her way down the river-path again.
But ere she was half way again the sound of voices was borne to her ears. Standing still for a moment she listened intently. They were native voices, and—they were drawing nearer. Swiftly she fled down the river-path, and having regained her place of refuge, lay within it like a hunted animal, all inclination for food now gone.
No further sound arose to disturb her, and presently a drowsiness came upon her, and she fell fast asleep, slumbering peacefully and dreamlessly. Hour after hour went by, and the sun mounted high in the heavens. When at length she did awaken, lo! the day was half gone. But she felt greatly refreshed, and attacked the viands she had so opportunely discovered with good appetite.
And now Nidia made her first and great mistake. She should have remained where she was until the following day, starting with the very first glimmer of dawn upon her long and weary pilgrimage. This would have given her the advantage of several cool hours in which to travel. Instead, she decided to start at once.
She went over to one of the water-holes, of which there were several, and took a long deep drink. Then she made her way down the dry bed of the river. It was easier walking, for there was no bush or long grass to impede her way, and had the further advantage of screening her from observation. Two or three times, after peeping cautiously forth, she had stolen across a neck of ground so as to shorten the way where the river-bed made a long bend; but the coarse sawlike grass had cut her scantily protected ankles, and her skirt was ripped in several places by numerous thorns, and by the time she had travelled for three hours, she became sadly alive to the certainty that she had effected very little progress indeed.
Worse still. She was beginning to feel utterly exhausted. Even a fair amount of bicycle training, and that in an equable climate, was inadequate training for a twenty mile across-country walk through the burning enervating heat of sub-tropical Matabeleland, and, moreover, she was tormented by a raging thirst; for no water had she found since first starting, and now she had walked for three hours.
The river-bed here made a bend. Despairingly poor Nidia sent a glance at the sun, to discover that the amount of daylight left to her was diminishing to an alarming degree. Then she climbed up the bank to ascertain whether a short cut might not effect a considerable saving of time.
She discovered it would. The country was dangerously open, though, and there were cultivated lands she would have to pass. Summoning up all her strength and courage, she stole rapidly along, keeping within the shelter of a line of thorn-bushes. These came abruptly to an end, and away, about a quarter of a mile off, stood three or four huts.
Quickly she drew back. Too late. She had been seen. Two natives were crossing the patch of cultivated land—a big man and a small one—and both were armed with guns. She turned instinctively to flee, but in loud and threatening tones they called on her to stop. At the same time a rush of gaunt curs, from the neighbourhood of the huts, howling and yelping, decided the situation. Poor Nidia, panting with exhaustion and fear, turned again, and, trying to summon all her courage, stood awaiting the approach of the two barbarians, who were advancing towards her with rapid strides.