For some time her pony had been restive, tossing his head and champing his bit. He was usually so quiet that she could not understand it, but just then, as she had made up her mind to return, he grew even more distressed and finally he bolted. She let him have his head and in nowise lost hers. She would be able to pull him up after a few miles. On he galloped, the bit between his teeth, raising the loose red sand, and taking her further and further away from the camp; past kopjes, past Kaffir huts, stone walls, sheep kraals, he tore. She made several attempts to check him, but in vain. Suddenly he put his foot into a hole, stumbled, and sent her flying over his head. She lay on the ground half stunned. The pony, relieved of his burden, scampered off. She was able to realize that she was there alone--on the karoo, far from the camp, and with night just upon her. CHAPTER XXIII. A DUTCH LOCHINVAR. Dusty and draggled from her fall, and with a swimming head, Brenda sat on an ant-hill, wondering how she could extricate herself from so unpleasant a position. The pony was far away, lost in the shadows of the karoo, and she was miles and miles from camp. It might be that the animal would find its own way home, and that they would send out in search of her, but busy as they were with the hurry and bustle of the advance, it was very possible that her absence would not be noticed. Had her husband been there--but she knew that he was far away in the enemy's country taking stock of the Boer movements and waiting for the division to come up. Wilfred was but a scatter-brain. She could not trust him. On the whole, she thought it was most unlikely that any one would trouble about her, or, in the confusion, even miss her. She was lost in the veldt. Fortunately she had plenty of courage; and when her brain had steadied from the shock she began to look about her. One thing was certain, she would not, and could not, remain in the veldt all night. If it was fine perhaps there would be no great hardship in that, in spite of the cold, but a heavy storm was coming on, and she would be drenched to the skin. The red sun sank down behind the hills; dark clouds labored up from the east; and the wide plain around her was swallowed up in the gloom. The place and the time were eerie; and the girl felt a superstitious thrill as she rose painfully to her feet, trying hard to collect her thoughts. At first it was the cause of the disaster which puzzled her. Why had the pony run away? She had ridden him frequently, and there was not an ounce of vice in the little beast. That he should suddenly bolt without rhyme or reason was quite incomprehensible. Perhaps, had she looked back and seen the evil grin on the face of the Kaffir who had saddled him, she would not have been at such a loss to explain the little pony's freak.