Hendricks the Hunter; Or, The Border Farm: A Tale of Zululand

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Crawford, who had gone ahead, with Denis behind him, dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks. Lionel and Percy followed close to him. The rest of the party were not far behind. Hendricks brought up the rear, keeping his rifle ready to shoot down any warrior with a fast pair of heels who should come near enough to hurl his assegai. When once he had got a good start, he had no doubt about keeping well ahead. But the hill had to be surmounted, when the men on foot would have the advantage of the horses. He turned for a moment to take a glance at his pursuers. Excited to fury by the howls and shrieks of the old hag, they were exerting every muscle of their lithe bodies to spring over the ground, and were coming on at a rapid rate. The well-trained steeds bravely pressed up the hill, as if they were perfectly aware of the threatened danger. Several of the Zulus had already got up to within fifty yards of the fugitives. A couple of assegais came whistling through the air, but they fell short of Hendricks, who now urging on his horse, made the animal spring ahead. The rest of the party were by this time almost on level ground. A few more bounds, and they were on the brow. There was now no probability that the Zulus would overtake them. Hendricks might have punished their pursuers by shooting down one or more, but he had no desire to kill any one, and the extreme danger passed he rode on to the head of his party. Still he could not venture to slacken his speed, for before them was another valley with a good deal of rough ground, and some of the more active Zulus might even now approach near enough to hurl their assegais. The desire he felt to avoid bloodshed made him still more anxious to keep ahead; for he and his companions might otherwise, by halting, have received their pursuers with a fire which would effectually have stopped their career. It was satisfactory to know that the Zulus had no horses, for none had been observed in or about the camp, so that when once they had got well ahead there was no risk of being overtaken.

What all this time had become of Gozo? Denis and Percy had not seen him during the morning, nor had he made his appearance after Hendricks’ arrival at the camp. It was hoped therefore that he had escaped, although it was too possible that he had been put to death by the Zulus.

As the party gained the brow of the slope which led down to the next valley, they saw below a herd of cattle, among which were several horses feeding, attended by a few Zulus.

“The chances are our horses are among them,” cried Denis, as they rode down the slope; “yes, yes, I see them! I am sure they are ours; and, hurrah, there too is old Gozo safe and sound. He has caught sight of us, and, depend on it, is planning how he can best get clear of those fellows near him.”

“You are right,” said Hendricks, and he shouted his follower’s name.

The herdsmen, thinking the strangers were about to make a raid on their cattle, began to drive them off, on which Gozo, throwing himself on the back of one of the horses, caught the two others, and galloped on to join his friends. Some of the herdsmen, seeing what he was doing, hurled their assegais at him; but, experienced hunter as he was, he avoided them by bending down over the neck of his horse, and escaped. He was quickly up to his friends.

“Hurrah! here he comes,” said Denis. “I will relieve you, Crawford, and mount my animal.”

“But he has no saddle,” said Crawford.

“Oh, never mind that; I’ve ridden many a mile without one; and your horse will go all the faster for not having my weight on his back,” answered Denis, as he threw himself off and quickly mounted one of the horses Gozo brought up.

No time was lost in asking Gozo questions. Lionel, who was as well accustomed to ride without a saddle as was Denis, at once climbed up on the back of his own horse.