There was a muddy drift to be crossed. The wheels sank deep. Emerging safely on the opposite side, the team plunged directly ahead. Suddenly their way was obscured before them. The enormous flight had completely darkened the mid-day sun. Above their heads floated myriads of the insects in a great blackening mass. As Uncle Abraham tried to force the team through it, they filled the cart, beating against its sides and against their faces with a loud humming sound. Locusts are the great scourge of South Africa. In the sudden gloom a herd of Lieutenant Wortley's fine cattle, crossing their path, was scarcely visible. Nor did they hear the lieutenant himself, and his little son George, calling to them. "Oh, Uncle Abraham, here comes Lieutenant Wortley and George. They are waving to us to stop for them. Can't we, Uncle?" Uncle Abraham hastily stopped the cart and welcomed his English friends. They were his nearest neighbors. Whatever hostile feelings he might once have had towards the British had long been forgotten. Thirteen years had passed since the war. "Good day, Lieutenant Wortley. Here is plenty of room in the cart. Petrus, make room for George there with you. We are making all speed, Lieutenant, to save my crops from the locusts. We are going to have a big 'grass-burning' to-night, and smoke out whatever remain of the pests." "Oh, Lieutenant Wortley, please let George stay with us for the burning! We always have such fine good times at a big grass-burning!" vehemently pleaded Petrus. "And I'll promise to ride home with him on Ferus, afterwards, and we'll--oh, what is that?" [Illustration: "THE LIEUTENANT AGAIN TOOK CAREFUL AIM AND FIRED"] _Z-z-zip! Wh-i-zz!_ A great shower of gleaming Zulu assegais flew through the air over the cart. _Z-z-zip!_ came another past George's head. They hit the car with a metallic sound, glanced off and fell to earth. "_The Zulus! the Zulus!_" cried the Englishman, seizing George close in his arms. "They have threatened our lives! The cowards! They are taking advantage of the dark. Quick, George, get down out of sight in the bottom of the cart! I'll fire at the villains!" Bang! Boom! Bang! sounded the lieutenant's rifle. The Zulus yelled, and quickly sent another shower of assegais. Petrus lowered his head. One landed heavily in the flying cart close to his feet. It was six feet long--its sharp iron head or blade being over a foot long in itself. An ox-tail ornamented the opposite end of the great spear. Already the darkening flight of locusts had passed on, leaving the sky bright and clear. Petrus gave one quick backward glance. One Zulu had fallen. The others were in hot pursuit. Uncle Abraham lashed the horses into a wild gallop. The lieutenant again took careful aim and fired. The Zulus went tumbling back into the tall grass. "They're afraid of our fire-arms! Hurrah!" cried Petrus in joy. "Hurrah! George, you're safe! They are gone!"