So it came about that one fine afternoon about a fortnight later, for
hurry as we would our preparations took a little time, we trekked for
Zululand over the sandy roads that ran from the outskirts of Durban.
Our baggage and stores were stowed in two half-tented wagons, very good
wagons since everything we had with us was the best that money could
buy, the after-part of which served us as sleeping-places at night.
Hans sat on the _voor-kisse_ or driving-seat of one of the wagons; Lord
Ragnall, Savage and I were mounted upon "salted" horses, that is, horses
which had recovered from and were therefore supposed to be proof against
the dreadful sickness, valuable and docile animals which were trained to
shooting.

At our start a little contretemps occurred. To my amazement I saw
Savage, who insisted upon continuing to wear his funereal upper
servant's cut-away coat, engaged with grim determination in mounting his
steed from the wrong side. He got into the saddle somehow, but there
was worse to follow. The horse, astonished at such treatment, bolted
a little way, Savage sawing at its mouth. Lord Ragnall and I cantered
after it past the wagons, fearing disaster. All of a sudden it swerved
violently and Savage flew into the air, landing heavily in a sitting
posture.

"Poor Beans!" ejaculated Lord Ragnall as we sped forward. "I expect
there is an end of his journeyings."

To our surprise, however, we saw him leap from the ground with the most
marvellous agility and begin to dance about slapping at his posterior
parts and shouting,