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.”

She turned to me with a flash of her eyes.  “What!  You are a man,” she broke out, “and you ask a woman to save her life by abandoning a baby!  Hubert, you shame me!”

I felt she was right.  If she had been capable of giving it up, she would not have been Hilda.  There was but one other way left.

“Then you must take the pony,” I called out, “and let me have the bicycle!”

“You couldn’t ride it,” she called back.  “It is a woman’s machine, remember.”

“Yes, I could,” I replied, without slowing.  “It is not much too short; and I can bend my knees a bit.  Quick, quick!  No words!  Do as I tell you!”

She hesitated a second.  The child’s weight distressed her.  “We should lose time in changing,” she answered, at last, doubtful but still pedalling, though my hand was on the rein, ready to pull up the pony.

“Not if we manage it right.  Obey orders!  The moment I say ‘Halt,’ I shall slacken my mare’s pace.  When you see me leave the saddle, jump off instantly, you, and mount her!  I will catch the machine before it falls.  Are you ready?  Halt, then!”

She obeyed the word without one second’s delay.  I slipped off, held the bridle, caught the bicycle, and led it instantaneously.  Then I ran beside the pony—­bridle in one hand, machine in the other—­till Hilda had sprung with a light bound into the stirrup.  At that, a little leap, and I mounted the bicycle.  It was all done nimbly, in less time than the telling takes, for we are both of us naturally quick in our movements.  Hilda rode like a man, astride—­ her short, bicycling skirt, unobtrusively divided in front and at the back, made this easily possible.  Looking behind me with a hasty glance, I could see that the savages, taken aback, had reined in to deliberate at our unwonted evolution.  I feel sure that the novelty of the iron horse, with a woman riding it, played not a little on their superstitious fears; they suspected, no doubt, this was some ingenious new engine of war devised against them by the unaccountable white man; it might go off unexpectedly in their faces at any moment.  Most of them, I observed, as they halted, carried on their backs black ox-hide shields, interlaced with white thongs; they were armed with two or three assegais apiece and a knobkerry.