“We must turn the cattle,” said the leader. “Come, all together,” and he moved on up the hill. But no one followed.
“If we are killed,” said Oom Jan, slowly, “our wives and children will suffer more than if we return not with the cattle.”
“Ja, ja! that is altogether true,” said the others, eagerly.
The Commandant glanced back and saw that he was alone.
“Keep the Kaffirs back,” he said, without any anger, “and I will myself turn them.”
So he urged on his great horse up the hill, while the others faced about and fired, not recklessly, but only when they were sure.
Young Piet looked after his father and feared, and urged his horse forward, and drew back as he saw dark figures crouching low along the hillside, and flitting swiftly from rock to rock. Up the hill his father went, menacing now one warrior, now another, with his rifle, getting at last above the cattle, then with a roar he turned and swept the herd before him down on to the rolling grass veld again.
All would have been well if the burghers had stood fast a moment longer, but seeing the cattle safe they galloped after, and the Zulus, fearing to be baulked of their prey, made their last effort.
“My Gott!” cried the Commandant, “why do you run? Hold them back!” But the men had got the madness of flight in their blood now, and nothing would hold them, though the Zulus were now out on the plain and without shelter. So once again he stood alone, checking the rush of the foe with his menacing rifle before he galloped on. Assegais whizzed by his head; then his horse reared with a shrill scream of pain, and he was hurled headlong.
When he presently sat up with a ringing in his head, he saw the Zulus standing away off with the assegais poised, and he attempted to rise.