eners beat with an intense and surging
throb of expectation in the dead silence.

But instead of those stealthy feet, swift to shed blood, there was borne
upon the night the sound of horses' hoofs. Then a crash of fire-arms,
and a ringing cheer. No savage war-cry that, but a genuine British
shout.

"That you, Milne?" cried a familiar voice. "All right: keep cool, old
man. We shan't hit you by mistake. How many are there?"

"I don't know. Better not tackle them in the dark, Hoste. Who is with
you?"

"Some Police. But where are the niggers?"

Where indeed? Savages have no stomach for facing unknown odds. Their
late assailants had prudently made themselves scarce.

"We seem to be only just in time, anyway?" said Hoste, with a long
whistle of consternation as he realised the critical position of
affairs. "Is Mrs Carhayes all right?" he added anxiously.

"Quite, thanks, Mr Hoste," replied Eanswyth. "But you are, as you say,
only just in time."

Two of the Police horses were inspanned to the buggy, the men mounting
behind comrades, and the party set forth. It would not do to linger.
The enemy might return in force at any moment.

Their escape had indeed been a narrow one. It was only late in the
afternoon that Hoste had, by chance, learned from a trustworthy source
that the Gaikas meant to rise that night. Horror-stricken, he had
rushed off to the officer in command of the Mounted Police to beg for
some troopers as a protective escort in order to bring Eanswyth away
from her lonely and perilous situation. An experienced sergeant and
twenty-five men had been immediately ordered out--arriving in the very
nick of time, as we have seen.

"Well, we are all burnt out now, anyway," said Hoste as they journeyed
along as rapidly as possible. "Look at my old place, what a flare-up
it's making. And the hotel at Draaibosch! It's making a bigger blaze
than all."

"That's McDonald's `Cape Smoke,'" [An inferior quality of Cape brandy is
thus popularly termed] laughed the police sergeant.

It was a weird and awesome sight. The whole country was literally in a
blaze--the murk of the reddened smoke of burning homesteads obliterating
the stars. And ever and anon the fierce, tumultuous thunder of a
distant war-dance was borne upon the air, with the vengeful shouts of
excited savages, beginning their orgy of torch and assegai.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

EUSTACE BECOMES UNPOPULAR.

The state of excitement p