A few minutes later, three perhaps, or five, just as the four of us with our Kaffir servants were riding quietly up to the mouth of the Nek, we saw a great horse thundering towards us, black with sweat and flecked with foam, its shoulder bloody, its eyes staring, its red nostrils agape, and perched upon its bare back a little woman who swayed from side to side as though with weariness, holding in her hand a shattered wand.
“Allemachter!” cried Jan. “It is Sihamba, and the witch rides my roan schimmel!”
By this time Sihamba herself was upon us. “Back,” she screamed as she came, “death waits you in the pass;” whereon, compelled to it as it were by the weight of the words and the face of her who spoke them, we turned our horses’ heads and galloped after the schimmel for the half of a mile or more till we were safe in the open veldt.
Then of a sudden the horse stopped, whether of its own accord or because its rider pulled upon the reins I know not. At the least it stood there trembling like a reed and Sihamba lay upon its back clinging to the mane, and as she lay I saw blood running down her legs, for her skin was chafed to the flesh beneath. Ralph sprang to her and lifted her to the ground and Suzanne made her take a draught of peach brandy from Jan’s flask, which brought the life to her face again.
“Now,” she said, “if you have it to spare, give the schimmel yonder a drink of that stuff, for he has saved all your lives and I think he needs it.”
“That is a wise word,” said Jan, and he bade Ralph and the Kaffirs pour the rest of the spirit down the horse’s throat, which they did, thereby, as I believe, saving its life, for until it had swallowed it the beast looked as though its heart were about to burst.
“Now,” said Jan, “why do you ride my best horse to death in this fashion?”
“Have I not told you, father of Swallow,” she answered, “that it was to save you from death? But a few minutes over an hour ago, fifteen perhaps, a word was spoken to me at your stead yonder and now I am here, seven leagues away, having ridden faster than I wish to ride again, or than any other horse in this country can travel with a man upon its back.”
“To save us from death! What death?” asked Jan astounded.
“Death at the hands of Swart Piet and his Kaffir tribesmen for the three of you and the two slaves, and for the fourth, the lady Swallow there, a love which she does not seek, the love of the murderer of her father, her mother, and her chosen.”