which occurred of jaundice at Durban not long
before I started on my journey to King Solomon's Mines. No man
ever had a more faithful friend and companion.

When I had eaten and drunk I looked about me, wondering what I
should do. Fifty yards away I saw a stout Basuto pony still
saddled and bridled, although the saddle was twisted out of its
proper position, which was cropping the grass as well as it could
with the bit in its mouth. Advancing gently I caught it without
trouble, and led it back to the plundered wagon. Evidently from
the marks upon the saddlery it had belonged to Captain
Shepstone's force of mounted natives.

Here I filled the large saddlebags made of buckskin with tins of
beef, a couple more bottles of beer and a packet of tandstickor
matches which I was fortunate enough to find. Also I took the
Martini rifle from a dead soldier, together with a score or so of
cartridges that remained in his belt, for apparently he must have
been killed rather early in the fight.

Thus equipped I mounted the pony and once more bethought me of
escaping to Natal. A look towards the nek cured me of that idea,
for coming over it I saw the plumed heads of a whole horde of
warriors. Doubtless these were returning from the unsuccessful
attack on Rorke's Drift, though of that I knew nothing at the
time. So whistling to the dog I bore to the left for the Nqutu
Hills, riding as fast as the rough ground would allow, and in
half an hour was out of sight of that accursed plain.

One more thing too I did. On its confines I came across a group
of dead Zulus who appeared to have been killed by a shell.
Dismounting I took the headdress of one of them and put it on,
for I forgot to say that I had lost my hat. It was made of a
band of otterskin from which rose large tufts of the black
feathers of the finch which the natives call "sakabula." Also I
tied his kilt of white oxtails about my middle, precautions to
which I have little doubt I owe my life, since from a distance
they made me look like a Kaffir mounted on a captured pony.

Then I started on again, whither I knew not.

CHAPTER XIX

ALLAN AWAKES

Now I have no intention of setting down all the details of that
dreadful journey through Zululand, even if I could recall them,
which, for a reason to be stated, I cannot do. I remember that
at first I thought of proceeding to Ulundi with some wild idea of
throwing myself on the mercy of Cetewayo und