vered several miles
of country. Subsequently, when both of them were nearly exhausted, they
tried riding together--she in front and he behind, for their baggage had
long since been thrown away. But the weary beast could not carry this
double burden, and after a few hundred yards of it, stumbled, fell,
struggled to its feet again, and stopped.

So once more they were obliged to ride and walk alternately.

Now there was not much more than an hour of daylight left, and the
narrow pass lay about three miles ahead of them. That dreadful three
miles; ever thereafter it was Benita's favourite nightmare! At the
beginning of it the leading Matabele were about two thousand yards
behind them; half-way, about a thousand; and at the commencement of the
last mile, say five hundred.

Nature is a wonderful thing, and great are its resources in extremity.
As the actual crisis approached, the weariness of these two seemed to
depart, or at any rate it was forgotten. They no longer felt exhausted,
nor, had they been fresh from their beds, could they have climbed or run
better. Even the horse seemed to find new energy, and when it lagged
Mr. Clifford dug the point of his hunting knife into its flank. Gasping,
panting, now one mounted and now the other, they struggled on towards
that crest of rock, while behind them came death in the shape of those
sleuth-hounds of Matabele. The sun was going down, and against its
flaming ball, when they glanced back they could see their dark forms
outlined; the broad spears also looked red as though they had been
dipped in blood. They could even hear their taunting shouts as they
called to them to sit down and be killed, and save trouble.

Now they were not three hundred yards away, and the crest of the pass
was still half a mile ahead. Five minutes passed, and here, where the
track was very rough, the horse blundered upwards slowly. Mr. Clifford
was riding at the time, and Benita running at his side, holding to the
stirrup leather. She looked behind her. The savages, fearing that their
victims might find shelter over the hill, were making a rush, and
the horse could go no faster. One man, a great tall fellow, quite
out-distanced his companions. Two minutes more and he was not over a
hundred paces from them, a little nearer than they were to the top of
the pass. Then the horse stopped and refused to stir any more.

Mr. Clifford jumped from the saddle, and Benita, who could not speak,
pointed to the pur