Young Piet looked after his father and feared, and urged his horse forward, and drew back as he saw dark figures crouching low along the hillside, and flitting swiftly from rock to rock. Up the hill his father went, menacing now one warrior, now another, with his rifle, getting at last above the cattle, then with a roar he turned and swept the herd before him down on to the rolling grass veld again. All would have been well if the burghers had stood fast a moment longer, but seeing the cattle safe they galloped after, and the Zulus, fearing to be baulked of their prey, made their last effort. "My Gott!" cried the Commandant, "why do you run? Hold them back!" But the men had got the madness of flight in their blood now, and nothing would hold them, though the Zulus were now out on the plain and without shelter. So once again he stood alone, checking the rush of the foe with his menacing rifle before he galloped on. Assegais whizzed by his head; then his horse reared with a shrill scream of pain, and he was hurled headlong. When he presently sat up with a ringing in his head, he saw the Zulus standing away off with the assegais poised, and he attempted to rise. "My leg is broken," he muttered. "Lay still, my father. Oom Jan will come for you." The big man looked round and saw his son standing behind, with his rifle ready, facing the warriors, alone. "Oh, Heer! Oh, Heer!" he groaned. "My son, why are you here?" "Oom Jan will come," muttered the boy, huskily. "Anything but this," cried the big man. Then he said sternly, "Give me your rifle, Piet, and run--run for your mother's sake. Run, you are untired and the Kaffirs have come miles. Your rifle--quick!" Young Piet shook his head. "Oom Jan will come," he whispered. The Zulus, silent with quivering nostrils and gleaming eyes, drew in closer. The veld echoed the sound of rapid hoof-beats. Old Piet Uys raised himself on his arm and looked over the veld. He saw his burghers coming; but they were far, and he faintly heard Oom Jim's voice ring out in encouragement. "Run, my little one," he repeated; "run, I order you! Your father tells you," and the man looked sternly at his son. The boy shook his head, his lips parted, but the words never came. The next instant his rifle spoke its last message, and the Zulus rushed in. They found them both; the boy lying across his father's broad breast. And the little mother sat tearless through the night crying that "The Groot Heer was good, but he had taken all--all," while Oom Jan wept like a child. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. UNCLE ABE AND THE SNAKE.