"Hilda, can you manage it?"
She pedalled with a will. But, as we mounted the slope, I saw they were
gaining upon us. A few hundred yards were all our start. They had the
descent of the opposite hill as yet in their favour.
One man, astride on a better horse than the rest, galloped on in front
and came within range of us. He had a rifle in his hand, he pointed it
twice, and covered us. But he did not shoot. Hilda gave a cry of relief.
"Don't you see?" she exclaimed. "It is Oom Jan Willem's rifle! That was
their last cartridge. They have no more ammunition."
I saw she was probably right; for Klaas was out of cartridges, and was
waiting for my new stock to arrive from England. If that were correct,
they must get near enough to attack us with assegais. They are more
dangerous so. I remembered what an old Boer had said to me at Buluwayo:
"The Zulu with his assegai is an enemy to be feared; with a gun, he is a
bungler."
We pounded on up the hill. It was deadly work, with those brutes at our
heels. The child on Hilda's arm was visibly wearying her. It kept on
whining. "Hilda," I cried, "that baby will lose your life! You CANNOT go
on carrying it.
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