"Ping--ping! Whigge!" The bullets began to sing about their ears, and from the bush around there issued puffs of smoke. The Kafirs who were driving the cattle, seeing that the invaders were so few, dropped down into cover and opened a brisk fire, but too late. Quickly the foremost half of the patrol, reining in, had poured a couple of effective volleys into them, and at least a dozen of their number lay stretched upon the ground, stone dead or writhing in the throes of death; while several more might be seen limping off as well as they could, their only thought now being to save their own lives. The rest melted away into the bush, whence they kept up a tolerably brisk fire, and the bullets and bits of pot-leg began to whistle uncomfortably close. "Now, boys!" cried Shelton. "Half of you come with me--and Carhayes, you take the other half and collect the cattle, but don't separate more than to that extent." And in furtherance of this injunction the now divided force rode off as hard as it could go, to head the animals back--stumbling among stones, crashing through bushes or flying over the same--on they dashed, helter-skelter, hardly knowing at times how they kept their saddles. Amid much shouting and whistling the terrified creatures were at last turned. Down the defile they rushed--eyes rolling and horns clashing, trampling to pulp the dead or helpless bodies of some of their former drivers, who had been shot in the earlier stages of the conflict. It was an indescribable scene--the dappled, many-coloured hides flashing in the sun as the immense herd surged furiously down that wild pass. And mingling with the shouting and confusion, and the terrified lowing of the cattle half-frenzied with the sight and smell of blood--the overhanging cliffs echoed back in sharper tones the "crack-crack" of the rifles of the Kaffirs, who, well under cover themselves, kept up a continuous, but luckily ineffective, fire upon the patrol. Suddenly a dark form rose up in front of the horsemen. Springing like a cat the savage made a swift stab at the breast of his intended victim, who swerved quickly, but not quickly enough, and the blade of the assegai descended, inflicting an ugly wound in the man's side. Dropping to the ground again, the daring assailant ducked in time to avoid the revolver bullet aimed at him, and gliding in among the fleeing cattle, escaped before the infuriated frontiersman could get in another shot. So quickly did it all take place that, except the wounded man himself, hardly anybody knew what had happened. "Hurt, Thompson?" sung out Hoste, seeing that the man looked rather pale. "No. Nothin' to speak of, at least. Time enough to see to it by and by." As he spoke the horse of another man plunged and then fell heavily forward. The poor beast had been mortally stricken by one of the enemy's missiles, and would never rise again. The dismounted man ran alongside of a comrade, holding on by the stirrup of the latter.