We were indeed, for as we tailed down that kloof, from the top of both cliffs above us came a continuous but luckily ill-directed fire. Lead-coated stones, pot legs and bullets whirred and whistled all round us, yet until the last, just when we were reaching the tree to which we had tied our horses, quite harmlessly. Then suddenly I saw Anscombe begin to limp. Still he managed to run on and mount, though I observed that he did not put his right foot into the stirrup.
“What’s the matter?” I asked as we galloped off.
“Shot through the instep, I think,” he answered with a laugh, “but it doesn’t hurt a bit.”
“I expect it will later,” I replied. “Meanwhile, thank God it wasn’t at the top of the kloof. They won’t catch us on the horses, which they never thought of killing first.”
“They are going to try though. Look behind you.”
I looked and saw twenty or thirty men emerging from the mouth of the kloof in pursuit.
“No time to stop to get those horns,” he said with a sigh.
“No,” I answered, “unless you are particularly anxious to say good-bye to the world pinned over a broken ant-heap in the sun, or something pleasant of the sort.”
Then we rode on in silence, I thinking what a fool I had been first to allow myself to be overruled by Anscombe and cross the river, and secondly not to have taken warning from that war-horn. We could not go very fast because of the difficult and swampy nature of the ground; also the great heat of the day told on the horses. Thus it came about that when we reached the ford we were not more than ten minutes ahead of our active pursuers, good runners every one of them, and accustomed to the country. I suppose that they had orders to kill or capture us at any cost, for instead of giving up the chase, as I hoped they would, they stuck to us in surprising fashion.
We splashed through the river, and luckily on the further bank were met by Footsack who had seen us coming and guessed that something was wrong.