No more was said, but at their utmost speed they set off, and dashed over the country as if doing a race. Mile after mile they sped without slackening rein for an instant. The moon went down by the west, and the stars grew dim. When the day broke they were at least twenty miles from Nylstroom, and in the midst of a wild and lonely scrub. They had reached a fording-place on one of the tributaries of the Limpopo river, and were approaching a native kraal. Here they saw a crowd of natives, and with them four horsemen, with a number of spare horses. "You see we have made preparations for you youngsters; at every twenty miles we have relays waiting right on to Palla station. There we shall find a sufficient force to back us up if there is any fighting to be done." The natives, who, although under Boer control, hated them furiously, had beer and roasted meat ready for the new-comers. Galloping up, they flung themselves off their exhausted beasts and rapidly transferred their saddles and bridles to the fresh horses. The fagged steeds were turned out to grass. Five minutes only they stayed at this kraal, and while devouring their meat and drink standing, they told the men who had been waiting about their last encounter. "We must get through before the news can spread, and avoid, if possible, any more encounters; so here goes to beat the record." Together they all dashed on at the same speed as before. That morning our heroes had their first glimpse of some of the wild game of Africa. They saw in the distance a herd of quagga, and shortly afterwards sighted some giraffes fleeting away much more rapidly than they were doing. It was a beautiful and varied country they were passing so rapidly through. But they were too deeply engrossed in the effort to get out of it to pay much attention to what they might otherwise have noted. In another couple of hours they were joined by a fresh company of four, and again mounted. By midday they had dashed across the border-line, having covered over a hundred and thirty miles in less than nine hours. It was the longest and fastest ride at one stretch which Ned and his chums had ever taken, and by this time they were almost bent double with fatigue. But they were safe from Kruger and his myrmidons. Clear out of the country, to which they vowed only to return with those who would terminate this vile oppression miscalled a republic. It was their last stage. A few more miles, and they would be at the Palla Road railway stations, where they could wait for the up-train to Bulawayo. They slackened pace now that they were so near the end of their desperate race. As they cantered along, they took out the remainder of their provender and emptied their water-bags; then, considerably refreshed, they began to converse. There had been no leisure to see much of each other during this record ride.