Gliding nimbly in and out through the bushes, or creeping slyly up in the tall grass, were bunches of swift-footed Zulus. Petrus shuddered, and closely scanned each black face for Dirk's. Thousands of their beehive-like kraals were thickly scattered over every hillside they were passing.
"Look out for Dirk, Mutla. We may pass him on the road at any moment," sternly cautioned Petrus, as they hastened on through Natal's tropical valleys and uplands.
They paused at Pietermaritzburg. There the papers were full of the story and the offer of the large reward, but no trace of the stolen boy. Realizing that Durban must be reached at once, if Dirk was to be overtaken, they changed their pace into an easy gallop and dashed on their way towards the coast, past many large banana and sugar-cane plantations. A cooling breeze was brushing the hillsides, for it had rained hard during the night.
"PILING GREAT BEAMS OF WOOD IN ORDERLY ROWS ON THE WHARF"
It was only about noon when they reached Natal's beautiful seaport—the "Pearl of South African Cities," as Durban has been called. Petrus made straight for the land-locked harbor. Above—on one of these beautiful terraced hillsides overlooking the Indian Ocean—he could see the handsome residences of the Berea, where dwelt Durban's prosperous business men.
"Dirk would neither be working there, nor as a jinrickshaw-boy in the busy streets of the town," thought Petrus, as they hurried on to the docks. There he found hundreds of powerfully built, broad-chested, coal-black Zulus, all hard at work piling great beams of wood in orderly rows on the wharf. They sang as they worked. Petrus scrutinized every ebony face but saw no little white boy among them.
"Look close, Mutla. Dirk worked here on this dock once. He may be here now."
Just at that moment a gust of wind sent a Durban morning paper fluttering against Ferus' feet. Dropping quickly to the ground, Petrus caught it before it was gone.