Only the commotion among the fowls and dogs broke the dead silence.
"George! George!" louder called Petrus, in despair.
There came no answer.
Petrus looked about for the ponies. There they were both quietly standing just where he had left them. Shobo—the Bushboy—rushed up.
"Cluck, cluck, click, click—nhlpr—nh!" he cried out, gesticulating wildly to Petrus, and pointing far off to the west.
"Oh, my master! My master!" cried Mutla, galloping breathlessly up. "The Zulu! The Zulu! He got Master George!"
Petrus' foot struck against something hard. He shuddered. There lay a six-foot long, iron-tipped assegai. One just like it fell into the flying cart that day. He had it yet. The horrible truth came home to him—George was gone!
"Quick, Ferus!" cried Petrus, springing into the saddle with the assegai under one arm. Ferus shot over the ground at a slashing pace. Soon his master was within sight of Lieutenant Wortley's home. The soft glow of evening lights came from the windows. From one there came the sparkle of many little candlelights. They were on a tree. Petrus could see George's Aunt Edith carefully arranging the presents for the evening party—George's party.
They reached the door. Petrus sprang from Ferus and dashed up the steps, crying—