“Look here, Ernest,” he said, “here is a pretty business. Three men have come in to report that Cetewayo has sent an Impi (army) round by the back of Secocoeni’s country to burn Pretoria, and return to Zululand across the High Veldt. They say that the Impi is now resting in the Saltpan Bush, about twenty miles off, and will attack the town to-night or to-morrow night. All these three, who have, by the way, had no communication with each other, state that they have actually seen the captains of the Impi, who came to tell them to bid the other Dutchmen stand aside, as they are now fighting the Queen, and they would not be hurt.” “It seems incredible,” said Ernest; “do you believe it?” “I don’t know. It is possible, and the evidence is strong. It is possible; I have known the Zulus make longer marches than that. The Governor has ordered me to gallop to the spot, and report if I can see anything of this Impi.” “Am I to go too?” “No, you will remain in the corps. I take Roger with me—he is a light weight—and two spare horses. If there should be an attack and I should not be back, or if anything should happen, you will do your duty.” “Yes.” “Good-bye. I am off. You had better muster the men to be ready for an emergency;” and he was gone. Ten minutes afterwards, down came an orderly from the officer commanding, with a peremptory order to the effect that the officer commanding Alston’s Horse was to mount and parade his men in readiness for immediate service. “Here is a pretty go,” thought Ernest, “and the horses not served out yet!” Just then Jeremy came in, saluted, and informed him that the men were mustered. “Serve out the saddlery. Let every man shoulder his saddle. Tell Mazooku to bring out the ‘Devil’ (Ernest’s favourite horse), and march the men up to the Government stables. I will be with you presently.” Jeremy saluted again with much ceremony and vanished. He was the most punctilious sergeant-major who ever breathed. Twenty minutes later, a long file of men, each with a carbine slung to his back, and a saddle on his head, which, at a distance, gave them the appearance of a string of gigantic mushrooms, were to be seen proceeding towards the Government stables a mile away. Ernest, mounted on his great black stallion, and looking, in his military uniform and the revolver slung across his shoulders, a typical volunteer officer, was there before them. “Now, my men,” he said, as soon as they were paraded, “go in, and each man choose the horse which he likes best, bridle him, and bring him out and saddle him. Sharp!” The men broke their ranks and rushed to the stables, each anxious to secure a better horse than his neighbours. Presently from the stables there arose a sound of kicking, plunging, and “wo-hoing” impossible to describe. “There will be a pretty scene soon, with these unbroken brutes,” thought Ernest.