Her very doubt reassured me.
We began to mount a long slope.

Hilda pedalled with difficulty.

Not a sound was heard save the light fall of my pony's feet on the soft new road, and the shrill cry of the cicalas.

Then, suddenly, we started.
What was that noise in our rear?
Once, twice, it rang out.

The loud ping of a rifle! Looking behind us, we saw eight or ten mounted Matabele! Stalwart warriors they were--half naked, and riding stolen horses.