CHAPTER SIX.
NIGHT ON THE VELDT.
I sat there in the chilly darkness, listening till the last sounds of the beating hoofs died out--began again--grew fainter--finally ceased altogether.

Sandho stood perfectly still, with the painful heaving of his flanks gradually easing down.

At last he uttered a low whinnying sound, as if asking me why we did not go on; but I made no movement, spoke no word, only sat and listened for the return of the Boers.
There was no sound, for my ruse had succeeded; and I was just beginning to try to rouse myself from a faint, half-swooning state, when my nerves received a fillip; for there in the distance rose the deep, barking roar of a lion, followed by a pause, and then from a different direction came the horrible wailing howl of the unclean prowlers who follow the monarch of the desert to finish the remains of his feasts.
Sandho stirred uneasily and drew a deep breath, which was followed by something strangely resembling a sigh.

I knew it was time to move; and, shaking off a sensation of fast-approaching lethargy, I tried to get rid of the feeling of faintness, and only roused the sharp pain afresh.
Still, that spurred me into effort; and as I pressed Sandho's sides lightly, he began to amble gently along, while I raised my eyes to the stars, and endeavoured to make out which way we were travelling.

There was a soft mistiness in the great arch above me, and it was some minutes before I could pick out a few of the familiar stars; but at last I was certain, and made out that the Boers had galloped on nearly due north, while Sandho's nose was pointed east.
North meant home; and without doubt they would keep on in that direction, feeling sure that I should make for the farm.