“Now, Swallow,” said Sihamba as she slipped from the saddle, “you must choose between that raging torrent and Swart Piet.  If you choose the torrent the great horse is still strong and he may swim through; I can say no more.”

“And you?” asked Suzanne.

“I?  I bide here, and oh!  I would that Zinti had left the gun with me.”

“Never,” cried Suzanne.  “Together we will live or die.  Mount, I say—­mount.  Nay, if you refuse I will throw myself into the water before your eyes.”

Then seeing that she would indeed do no less, Sihamba took her outstretched hand, and placing her foot upon the foot of Suzanne, scrambled up upon the pad in front of her, whereat the pursuers, who now were little over two hundred yards away, laughed out loud, and Swart Piet shouted to Suzanne to yield.  But they did not laugh long, for Sihamba, having first bent her head and kissed Suzanne on the hand, leaned forward and began to stroke the schimmel’s neck and to whisper into his ear, till indeed it seemed as though the great brute that loved her understood.  At the least he pricked his ears and tossed his head, then looked, first round at the horses that drew near, and next at the foaming flood in front.

“Sit fast, Swallow,” said Sihamba, and then she cried a word aloud to the horse, and struck it lightly with her hand.  At the sound of that word the stallion drew himself together, sprang forward with two bounds over the ten paces of level bank and leapt far out into the flood that foamed beneath.  Down sank the horse and his riders till the Red Water closed over their heads, then they rose again and heard the shout of wonder of their enemies, who by now had almost reached the bank.  With a yell of rage Black Piet rode his horse at the river, for to do him justice he was a brave man, but do what he might it would not face it, so with the others he sat still and watched.

Now the schimmel struck out bravely, heading for the other bank, but in the fierce current it was not possible that any horse should reach it swimming in a straight line, for the weight of the stream was too great.  Sihamba had noted, however, that from the further shore, but two or three hundred paces lower down the river, a little point of land projected into it, and this the horse had seen also, or perhaps she told him of it, at least for that point he swam steadily.  In five minutes they were in the centre of the torrent, and here it ran with a roar and mighty force so that its waves began to break over the schimmel’s head, and they feared that he would drown.  So much did Sihamba fear it, indeed, that she slipped from his back, and leaving Suzanne to cling to the saddle, caught hold of his mane, floating alongside of him and protected by his neck from the whirl of the water.  Lying thus she continued to call to the horse and to urge him forward, and ever he answered to her words, so that although twice he nearly sank, in the end he set his feet upon a sandbank and, having rested there a while, plunged forward, half wading and half swimming, to the projecting point of land, up which he scrambled, still carrying Suzanne and dragging Sihamba with him, until once more they found themselves safe upon the solid earth, where he stood shaking himself and snorting.