Another weary half-hour passed, and then on passing over a crest suddenly they saw Hans Coetzee’s homestead lying down by the water in the hollow. So that was whither they were being taken.
Within a hundred yards of the house the Boers halted and consulted, except Jacobus, who went on, still looking very green. Finally the elder man came to them and addressed Jess, at the same time handing her back the pass.
“You can go on home,” he said. “The Englishman must stay with us till we find out more about him.”
“He says that I can go. What shall I do?” asked Jess. “I don’t like leaving you with these men.”
“Do? why, go, of course. I can look after myself; and if I can’t, certainly you won’t be able to help me. Perhaps you will be able to get some help from the farm. At any rate, you must go.”
“Now, Englishman,” said the Boer.
“Good-bye, Jess,” said John. “God bless you.”
“Good-bye, John,” she answered, looking him steadily in the eyes for a moment, and then turning away to hide the tears which would gather in her own.
And thus they parted.
She knew her way now even across the open veldt, for she dared not go by the road. There was, however, a bridle path that ran over the hill at the back of Mooifontein, and for this she shaped her course. It was five o’clock by now, and both she and her horse were in a condition of great exhaustion, enhanced in her own case by want of food and trouble of mind. But she was a strong woman, with a will like iron, and she held on when most girls would have died. Jess meant to get to Mooifontein somehow, and she knew that she would get there. If only she could reach the place and find help to send to her lover, she did not greatly care what happened to her afterwards. The pace of the horse she was riding grew slower and slower. From the ambling canter into which at first she managed occasionally to force it, and which is the best pace to travel at in South Africa, it relapsed continually into a rough short trot, which was agony to her, riding as she was, and from the trot into a walk. Indeed, just before sunset, or a little after six o’clock, the walk became final. At last they reached the rising ground that stretched up the slope of the Mooifontein hill, and here the poor beast fell down utterly worn out. Jess slipped off and tried to drag it up, but failed. It had no strength left in it. So she did what she could, pulling off the bridle and undoing the girth, so that the saddle would fall off if the horse ever managed to rise. The animal watched her go with melancholy eyes, knowing that it was being deserted. First it neighed, then with a desperate effort it struggled to its feet and trotted after her for a hundred yards or so, only to fall down again at last. Jess turned and saw it, and, exhausted as she was, she positively ran to get away from the look in those big eyes. That night there was a cold rain, in which the horse perished, as “poor” horses are apt to do.