Then of a sudden the horse stopped, whether of its own accord or because its rider pulled upon the reins I know not.  At the least it stood there trembling like a reed and Sihamba lay upon its back clinging to the mane, and as she lay I saw blood running down her legs, for her skin was chafed to the flesh beneath.  Ralph sprang to her and lifted her to the ground and Suzanne made her take a draught of peach brandy from Jan’s flask, which brought the life to her face again.

“Now,” she said, “if you have it to spare, give the schimmel yonder a drink of that stuff, for he has saved all your lives and I think he needs it.”

“That is a wise word,” said Jan, and he bade Ralph and the Kaffirs pour the rest of the spirit down the horse’s throat, which they did, thereby, as I believe, saving its life, for until it had swallowed it the beast looked as though its heart were about to burst.

“Now,” said Jan, “why do you ride my best horse to death in this fashion?”

“Have I not told you, father of Swallow,” she answered, “that it was to save you from death?  But a few minutes over an hour ago, fifteen perhaps, a word was spoken to me at your stead yonder and now I am here, seven leagues away, having ridden faster than I wish to ride again, or than any other horse in this country can travel with a man upon its back.”

“To save us from death!  What death?” asked Jan astounded.

“Death at the hands of Swart Piet and his Kaffir tribesmen for the three of you and the two slaves, and for the fourth, the lady Swallow there, a love which she does not seek, the love of the murderer of her father, her mother, and her chosen.”

Now we stared at each other; only Suzanne ran to Sihamba, and putting her arms about her, she kissed her.

“Nay,” said the little woman smiling, “nay, Swallow, I do but repay to you one-hundredth part of my debt, and all the rest is owing still.”

Then she told her story in few words, and when it was done, having first looked to see that Swart Piet and his men were not coming, at the bidding of Jan we all knelt down upon the veldt and thanked the Almighty for our deliverance.  Only Sihamba did not kneel, for she was a heathen, and worshipped no one unless it were Suzanne.

“You should pray to the horse, too,” she said, “for had it not been for his legs, I could never have reached you in time.”

“Peace, Sihamba,” I answered, “it is God who made the horse’s legs, as God put it into your mind to use them;” but I said no more, though at any other time I should have rated her well for her heathen folly.