We were now going at a good pace, and I found that my earlier weariness was growing less.

I was being keyed up for some great crisis, for in my case the spirit acts direct on the body, and fatigue grows and ebbs with hope.

I knew that my strength was not far from breaking-point; but I knew also that so long as a chance was left me I should have enough for a stroke.
Before I realized where we were we had rounded the hill, and were looking down on the green cup of the upper Machudi's glen.

Far down, I remember, where the trees began, there was a cloud of smoke.

Some Kaffir--or maybe Arcoll--had fired the forest.