The sound of horses’ feet was now heard, and Matamo came up. “Well, Matamo,” cried Redgy, “what was it then? was it a tiger, or a hyena, or a wild dog, or what?”
“I am not sure,” said Matamo, “but I think it was a bush thief?”
“A bush thief?” repeated Hardy; “do you mean a native or a white man?”
“A white thief, Mr Hardy,” answered the Bechuana,—“the same who attacked us before.”
“What! on the banks of the Blood river, you mean—before Isandhlwana, eh?” said George.
“Yes, Mr Rivers,—the man you rode after and did not catch.”
“What makes you suppose that? Colonel Wood is believed to have cleared the country of the gang by whom we were attacked,” observed Margetts.
“The colonel did not drive him off,” said Matamo. “I remember him quite well; I saw him in Luneberg the day before we left. He was looking at the waggons and asking questions. He thought I did not know him, but I did.”
“Then you think he is dogging us?” suggested Rivers.
“He is certainly after us, and means us harm,” rejoined the Bechuana. “I saw him long way off to-day. I knew his horse.”