CHAPTER EIGHT.
PERILS WHICH GROW.
Upon making out what was before me, the little I had heard about the war rushed across my mind, and I saw at once that, catching the infection, at least one of the native tribes which had been disarmed, and were previously living at peace, had broken out, seizing the opportunity of their Dutch and English masters being at enmity to take one side or the other, possibly with some vague idea that they would thus regain their independence.
What this warrior might be I could not tell at a distance, for he might prove a Zulu still smarting under the defeat inflicted upon his nation by the British, or a Swazi who bitterly hated the Boers for their brutal treatment during the past.
I felt I ought to be able to tell at once by his appearance; but my knowledge was, after all, imperfect, and I certainly could not at a distance make out to what nation the man belonged.
I had not long time for consideration, as Sandho was steadily carrying me nearer; but I decided to go as close as I could without getting within range of an assagai; for it was worth some risk to get in touch with a friendly native in my emergency, since I knew he would try all he could to furnish me with food.
So I rode slowly on, straining my eyes the while to scan the various points in his slight dress, but keeping a sharp lookout right and left to make sure that his companions, if he had any, were not, after their fashion, crawling along under cover to outflank me.

However, all seemed safe, for there was no cover on either side; but below the black warrior, and behind the ridge, there was ample space for a couple of hundred of his kin to be lying out of sight, ready at a signal to spring up and make a furious onslaught.
"And turn me into a sort of human pin-cushion, which they would fill with their assagais," I said half-aloud.

"That wouldn't do, Sandho, old boy; so be ready to gallop off when I pull your rein." My horse threw up his head and laid back his ears, beginning to bound off at once; but I checked him.
"Not yet, old boy; not yet.

When I give the word you must make a half-turn, and we must try and circumvent them--if it is them, and not only one .-- How near dare I go ?" I asked myself; and I decided that forty yards would be as far as I ought to venture, being of course well on the _qui vive_.
The black--Swazi or Zulu--looked a terribly formidable enemy as he stood above me, clearly seen against the sky, and I was beginning to feel that I must not go much farther; but I was still in the dark as to what he might be, friend or enemy, when he mystified me still further by suddenly striking an attitude, standing as if suddenly turned into a bronze figure defying some one on his right.

Directly after, he dashed into a kind of war-dance, advancing, retreating, throwing imaginary assagais at invisible foes, and then coming apparently to close quarters, screening his body with his long elliptic shield, and stabbing away at men standing and others falling all around.
I need hardly say I drew rein at once and sat ready to urge Sandho to his greatest speed at a moment's notice, for I felt that these evolutions might either mean defiance and a display of what he would do to me when I came within reach, or a feint to show his friendliness.
I cast the latter idea aside at once, and came to the conclusion that my warlike gentleman was on the watch for an opportunity to dash in after throwing me off my guard, and then I knew only too well what would happen--that which had befallen many an unfortunate settler in the past: a couple of small assagais darted at him like lightning, and the thrower rushing in after them with his stabbing weapon, followed by the fatal termination.
Still the grotesque dance went on, yet I felt pretty safe, for I was fully fifty yards distant, and had often proved Sandho in encounters with wild beasts; so I had no doubt of getting away in time when the savage made his rush which was certainly coming, as I saw the lithe actor was gradually working himself up to a sufficient pitch of excitement.