name? But mount, mount! They will kill you first, and ask how you were
called afterwards. Your father is much afraid."

"My mother would not be afraid; she knows," muttered Rachel to herself, as
she sprang to the saddle of the led-horse.

Then, without more words, they began to gallop back towards the camp.
Before they reached the crest of the second rise the sun shone out in
earnest, thinning the seaward mist, although between them and the camp it
still hung thick. Then suddenly in the fog-edge Rachel saw this sight:
Towards them ran a delicately shaped and beautiful native girl, naked
except for her moocha, and of a very light, copper-colour, whilst after
her, brandishing an assegai, came a Zulu warrior. Evidently the girl was
in the last stage of exhaustion; indeed she reeled over the ground, her
tongue protruded from her lips and her eyes seemed to be starting from her
head.

"Come on," shouted the man called Ishmael. "It is only one of the
fugitives whom they are killing."

But Rachel did nothing of the sort; she pulled up her horse and waited.
The girl caught sight of her and with a wild hoarse scream, redoubled her
efforts, so that her pursuer, who had been quite close, was left behind.
She reached Rachel and flung her arms about her legs gasping:

"Save me, white lady, save me!"

"Shoot her if she won't leave go," shouted Ishmael, "and come on."

But Rachel only sprang from the horse and stood face to face with the