“An’ is he following us up, Muster Gineral?” said Dinny, who had heard some of the last words.
The Zulu nodded; and Dinny looked from one to the other with such a look of hopeless dread in his countenance, that even Mr Rogers could not forbear to smile.
“Sure it’s the onsafest place I iver came noigh, sor; and it’s not meself that will stir away from the front of the waggon till that great baste is killed.”
The General’s account of his proceedings, and his conversation as a rule, was not in the plainest of English, so it is more convenient to give it in ordinary colloquial form; but he was very earnest, and tried hard to make himself understood.
When Mr Rogers consulted him as to the best means of getting rid of so unpleasant a follower, the Zulu said that the only way would be to ride on in front of the waggon, and then suddenly strike off to right or left, form a wide curve, and ride inward so as to strike the track of the waggon quite a mile behind.
By this means, the General said, they would probably get a shot at the monster as he was crawling furtively after the horses, and probably bring it down.
“It is a risk,” said Mr Rogers thoughtfully; “but it will be impossible for us to go on with an enemy like that always in our wake.”
“When do you think he will try to attack us, General?” said Dick.
“When the sun has gone down, Boss, and the horses and oxen are having their evening feed.”
“And he might take my beautiful Shoes,” said Dick.