In a straight line beyond, two other columns of dense smoke indicated the position of two neighbouring farms, and a third column, away to the right, and further removed from the line of the frontier, suddenly conveyed to the mind of Hans the fact that a general rising of the Kafirs had taken place. Instead of firing, he rose and remounted, exclaiming—
“Home, Charlie—home!”
At the moment a shout was heard in another direction. Turning round, they observed a body of a dozen or so of mounted Kafirs making straight towards them. To have killed two or four of these would have been easy enough to first-rate shots armed with double-barrels, but they knew that those unhurt would continue the chase. They therefore turned and fled in the direction of their own home. Their steeds were good and fresh, but their pursuers were evidently well mounted, for they did not seem to lose ground.
In the kitchen of Conrad Marais’s homestead Gertie stood that day, busily employed in the construction of a plum-pudding, with which she meant to regale Hans and Charlie on their return. And very pretty and happy did Gertie look, with her white apron and her dark hair looped up in careless braids, and her face flushed with exertion, and her pretty round arms bared to the dimpled elbows and scarcely capable of being rendered whiter by the flour with which they were covered.
A young Hottentot Venus of indescribable ugliness assisted in retarding her.
“The master will be here soon,” said Gertie, wiping the flour and pieces of dough off her hands; “we must be quick. Is the pot ready?”
Venus responded with a “Ja,” and a grin which displayed a splendid casket of pearls.
Just then the clatter of hoofs was heard.
“Why, here they come already, and in such a hurry too!” said Gertie in surprise, untying her apron hastily.
Before the apron was untied, however, Hans had pulled up at the door and shouted “Gertie!” in a voice so tremendous that his wife turned pale and came quickly to the door.