hat they should wish
to burden themselves with the child of another when their own lives are
at stake, but be it as you will, lady," and he struggled forward as best
he could, carrying the one and supporting the other.

Thus for hour after hour, slowly they crept onward with only the stars
to light and guide them, till at length about midnight the moon rose and
they saw that they were near the foot of the mountain. Now they rested
awhile, but not long enough to grow stiff, then hastening down the slope
they reached the plain, and headed for the white-topped koppie which
shone in the moonlight some six miles away. On they crept, Suzanne now
limping painfully, for her ankle had begun to swell, and now crawling
upon her hands and knees, for Zinti had no longer the strength to carry
her and the child. Thus they covered three miles in perhaps as many
hours. At last, with something like a sob, Suzanne sank to the earth.

"Zinti, I can walk no more," she said. "Either I must rest or die."

He looked at her and saw that she spoke truth, for she was quite
outworn.

"Is it so?" he said, "then we must stay here till the morning, nor do I
think that you will take hurt, for Bull-Head will scarcely care to cross
that pass by night."

Suzanne shook her head and answered:

"He will have begun to climb it at the rising of the moon. Hear me,
Zinti. The Boer camp is close and you still have some strength left;
take the child and go to it, and having gained an entrance in this way
or in that tell them my plight and they will ride out and save me."

"That is a good thought," he said; "but, lady, I do not like to leave
you alone, since here there is no place for you to hide."

"You could not help me if you stayed, Zinti, therefore go, for the
sooner you are gone, the sooner I shall be rescued."

"I hear your command, lady," he answered, and having given her most of
the food that was left, he fastened the sleeping child upon his shoulder
and walked forward up the rise.

In something less than an hour Zinti came to the camp, which was formed
of unlaagered waggons and tents pitched at the foot of a koppie, along
one base of which ran the river. About fifty yards in front of the camp
stood a single buck-waggon, and near to it sill glowed the embers of a
cooking-fire.

"Now if I try to pass that waggon those who watch by it will shoot at
me," thought Zinti, though, indeed, he need have had no fear, for they
were but camp-Kaffirs who