“How do you know?” I gasped. But I believed her.
“They are looking out this way, with hands shading their eyes against the red glare. They are looking away from Salisbury, in the direction of the attack. They are expecting the enemy. They MUST be friendlies! See, see! they have caught sight of us!”
As she spoke, one of the men lifted his rifle and half pointed it. “Don't shoot! don't shoot!” I shrieked aloud. “We are English! English!”
The men let their rifles drop, and rode down towards us. “Who are you?” I cried.
They saluted us, military fashion. “Matabele police, sah,” the leader answered, recognising me. “You are flying from Klaas's?”
“Yes,” I answered. “They have murdered Klaas, with his wife and child. Some of them are now following us.”
The spokesman was a well-educated Cape Town negro. “All right sah,” he answered. “I have forty men here right behind de kopje. Let dem come! We can give a good account of dem. Ride on straight wit de lady to Salisbury!”
“The Salisbury people know of this rising, then?” I asked.
“Yes, sah. Dem know since five o'clock. Kaffir boys from Klaas's brought in de news; and a white man escaped from Rozenboom's confirm it. We have pickets all round. You is safe now; you can ride on into Salisbury witout fear of de Matabele.”
I rode on, relieved. Mechanically, my feet worked to and fro on the pedals. It was a gentle down-gradient now towards the town. I had no further need for special exertion.