He got no further, for as the last word passed his lips I drove the knife at him with all my strength deep into his throat.  He fell back into the arms of his followers, and next instant I heard the sound of many feet rushing in terror down the hill.  What became of him I do not know, but if he still lives, probably he agrees with his tribesman that Macumazahn—­Watcher-by-Night, or his ghost “is a leopard who springs and kills and is gone again”; also, that those who try to trap him meet with no luck.  I say, or his ghost—­because I am sure he thought that I was a spirit of the dead; doubtless I must have looked like one with my white, rain-drowned face appearing there between the stones and made ghastly and livid by the lightning.

Well, they had gone, the whole band of them, not less than thirty or forty men, so I went also, back to the cart where I found the others very comfortable indeed beneath the rainproof tilt.  Saying nothing of what had happened, of which they were as innocent as babes, I took a stiff tot of brandy, for I was chilled through by the wet, and while waiting for the moon to rise, busied myself with getting the bits back into the horses’ mouths—­an awkward job in the dark.  At length it appeared in a clear sky, for the storm had quite departed and the rain ceased.  As soon as there was light enough I took the near leader by the bridle and led the cart to the brow of the hill, which was not easy under the conditions, making Kaatje follow with my horse.

Then, as there were no signs of any Basutos, we started on again, I riding about a hundred yards ahead, keeping a sharp look-out for a possible ambush.  Fortunately, however, the veld was bare and open, consisting of long waves of ground.  One start I did get, thinking that I saw men’s heads just on the crest of a wave, which turned out to be only a herd of springbuck feeding among the tussocks of grass.  I was very glad to see them, since their presence assured me that no human being had recently passed that way.

All night long we trekked, following the Kaffir path for as long as I could see it, and after that going by my compass.  I knew whereabouts the drift of the Crocodile River should be, as I had crossed it twice before in my life, and kept my eyes open for a certain tall koppie which stood within half a mile it on the Swazi side of the river.  Ultimately to my joy I caught sight of this hill faintly outlined against the sky and headed for it.  Half a mile further on I struck a wagon-track made by Boers trekking into Swazi-Land to trade or shoot.  Then I knew that the drift was straight ahead of us, and called to Anscombe to flog up the weary horses.

We reached the river just before the dawn.  To my horror it was very full, so full that the drift looked dangerous, for it had been swollen by the thunder-rain of the previous night.  Indeed some wandering Swazis on the further bank shouted to us that we should be drowned if we tried to cross.