Poor, sweet little Sannie! Oom Jan was lying shot in the yard outside.

I saw the cradle overturned, and looked under it for the baby.

They did not kill her--perhaps did not notice her.

I caught her up in my arms, and rushed out to my machine, thinking to make for Salisbury, and give the alarm to the men there.
One must try to save others--and YOU were coming, Hubert! Then I heard horses' hoofs--the Matabele returning.

They dashed back, mounted,--stolen horses from other farms,--they have taken poor Oom Jan's,--and they have gone on, shouting, to murder elsewhere! I flung down my machine among the bushes as they came,--I hope they have not seen it,--and I crouched here between the boulders, with the baby in my arms, trusting for protection to the colour of my dress, which is just like the ironstone." "It is a perfect deception," I answered, admiring her instinctive cleverness even then.