Jack gazed long and earnestly. "Why, it is a horse without a rider!" he exclaimed at last.
Kaffirs are noted for their keenness of vision, and shading his eyes with his right hand, Pete observed, "The horse is coming dis way, Baas Jack."
Pete was right. Nearer and nearer came the flying quadruped, until at last the stirrups from an empty saddle could be seen swaying backwards and forwards.
Jack's breath came thick and fast. The horse in a mad gallop was approaching them.
"Baas Jack," cried Pete, "it is Bessie!"
And so it proved. A few moments later, Mary's pet, the beautiful creature Mr. Lovat had driven to Springbokfontein that morning in the Cape cart, galloped up, covered with foam and blood!
Bessie was trembling in every limb, but she whinnied gently as Jack patted her neck. On Bessie's back was a Boer saddle. A sudden fear descended on Jack Lovat, and mentally he asked the question, "What has happened to father?"
The mare was bleeding from a wound in the right shoulder, evidently caused by a bullet.
"Take her round to the stables, Pete," said Jack. "I will join you presently." Saying this, he went into the house. He met Mrs. Lovat coming out of the dining-room, and she at once accosted him.
"What is the matter, Jack? I heard the noise of hoofs just now. Is it your father who has returned?"