“Quick!” he cried angrily.
On this the General leaped up behind, and they went at full gallop, tearing over the ground, the bay straining its sinews to the utmost, while, as he saw the fire gaining upon him fast, Mr Rogers’ heart sank within him, for he could see no sign of either Dick or Jack, and yet he was obliged to dash on, for the fire was wrapping round from his left as if to cut him off.
“Where are the boys?” he groaned as he reached the top of a small eminence, and drew rein to look around.
“There!” cried the Zulu, pointing.
To his great relief Mr Rogers saw the boys galloping towards him, evidently coming to his aid.
Waving his hand to them to go back, he galloped down, and before long had overtaken them, and they rode on side by side, each with a Zulu behind his saddle, for the fire seemed to come on now with lightning speed.
“The waggon stands just in the way of the fire, boys,” groaned Mr Rogers, “and we shall never save it unless the oxen are already in-spanned.”
It seemed to be only too true, and they urged on the horses to their fullest speed.
It was a race for life, and they could hear the flames roaring hungrily behind them as they tore along, the horses needing neither whip nor spur to send them at their best pace over the crackling grass.