They were his last words. Rachel aimed and pressed the trigger, the gun exploded heavily in the mist; the Zulu leapt into the air and fell upon his back, dead. The white man, Ishmael, rode to them, pulled up his horse and sat still, staring. It was a strange picture in that lonely, silent spot. The soldier so very still and dead, his face hidden by the shield that had fallen across it; the tall, white girl, rigid as a statue, in whose hand the gun still smoked, the delicate, fragile Kaffir maiden kneeling on the veld, and looking at her wildly as though she were a spirit, and the two horses, one with its ears pricked in curiosity, and the other already cropping grass. “My God! What have you done?” exclaimed Ishmael. “Justice,” answered Rachel. “Then your blood be on your own head. I am not going to stop here to have my throat cut.” “Don’t,” answered Rachel. “I have a better guardian than you, and will look after my own blood.” To this speech the white man seemed to be able to find no answer. Turning his horse he galloped off swearing, but not towards the camp, whereon the other horse galloped after him, and presently they all vanished in the mist, leaving the two women alone. At this moment from the direction of the waggon they heard the sound of shouting and of screams, which appeared to come from the valley between them and it. “The king’s men are killing my people,” muttered the girl Noie. “Go, or they will kill you too.” Rachel thought a moment. Evidently it was impossible to get through to the camp; indeed, even had they tried to do so on the horses they would have been cut off. An idea came to her. They stood upon the edge of a steep, bush-clothed kloof, where in the wet season a stream ran down to the sea. This stream was now represented by a chain of deep and muddy pools, one of which pools lay directly underneath them. “Help me to throw him into the water,” said Rachel. The girl understood, and with desperate energy they seized the dead soldier, dragged him to the edge of the little cliff and thrust him over. He fell with a heavy splash into the pool and vanished. “Crocodiles live there,” said Rachel, “I saw one as I passed. Now take the shield and spear and follow me.” She obeyed, for with hope her strength seemed to have returned to her, and the two of them scrambled down the cliffs into the kloof. As they reached the edge of the pool they saw great snouts and a disturbance in the water. Rachel was right, crocodiles lived there. “Now,” she said, “throw your moocha on that rock. They will find it and think——”