Still, he might do it, he whose feet were the swiftest in the land, except those of Umslopogaas.

At the least, he would try.

Mayhap, the impi would tarry to drink at the ford.
So Galazi thought in his heart, and his thought was swift as the light.
Then with a bound he was away down the mountain side.

From boulder to boulder he leapt like a buck, he crashed through the brake like a bull, he skimmed the level like a swallow.

The mountain was travelled now; there in front of him lay the yellow river foaming in its flood, so he had swum it before when he went to see the dead.