"Come with me at once," said Piet Bok. "I will lead you by another route to your outposts, and so shall we thwart this son of the pit. But you must come at once, there is not a moment to lose." "But the messenger?" "Of course we do not wait for him. It would mean death to you or to him." "Right you are, then; let's get off straight away. It's getting dark already." "Ach, yes! that is well. Come along, then." Their trust in the old man was implicit. He had always proved a friend hitherto. The sun was setting in floods of gold over the mountain-tops as they rode down the path which descended to the veldt. Heavy rains had rendered the ground sodden. Piet Bok headed for a point in the hills where he said there was a pass other than the one in which Van Zwieten was waiting. Unluckily, as they started across the veldt, they saw a horseman coming toward them at full speed. "The messenger!" cried Brenda. "What are we to do now, mynheer?" The old man unslung his gun. "Kill him," he said quietly, "else he will ride on and tell Van Zwieten. If he sees me with you he will guess the truth. It is well known in laager that I am the enemy of Van Zwieten." "Must he really be killed?" asked Brenda, with a shudder. It was terrible to her that this man should be shot in cold blood. "It is his life or mine, dear," said her husband, pulling out his revolver to be ready if Piet Bok should fail. But the approaching Boer was not going to trust himself at close quarters. He circled round them and held out a white flag in token of friendship. Harold laughed grimly as he recognized the old trick. Piet Bok sighted, and fired. But the fellow flung himself flat down on his horse's neck and the shot missed him. He rode off with a defiant whoop. A big Dutch oath escaped from the lips of Piet Bok, and he caught Brenda's horse by the bridle. "We must ride for it," he said. "The man recognized me, and you too. He will hasten back to Van Zwieten, and they will be after us in no time. We must make for the hills." "How can I thank you, Bok?" said Harold, gratefully. "Almighty, that is right! you spared my boy Hans." By this time the messenger was a mere speck on the horizon. He was riding like the wind to take this news to his chief. The three fugitives made a straight line for the pass, urging their horses to their best. The sun had dropped behind the mountains and the shadows were gathering fast on the veldt. For several hours they tore on until they reached the mouth of the pass. There they pulled up to give themselves and their animals breath. "I think we can count ourselves safe now," said Piet Bok, wiping his brow. "But we must push on through the pass. At the other side let us hope we shall come up with your men."