"
"And I am sure I hope that he will not. But, father, the horses are our
own; it was his that died, you remember. We can ride away on them."
He stared at her and answered:
"Yes, we could ride away to our deaths. Suppose they got sick or lame;
suppose we meet the Matabele, or could find no game to shoot; suppose
one of us fell ill--oh! and a hundred things. What then?"
"Why, then it is just as well to perish in the wilderness as here, where
our risks are almost as great. We must take our chance, and trust
to God. Perhaps He will be merciful and help us. Listen now, father.
To-morrow is Sunday, when you and I do no work that we can help. Mr.
Meyer is a Jew, and he won't waste Sunday. Well now, I will say that I
want to go down to the outer wall to fetch some clothes which I left
in the waggon, and to take others for the native women to wash, and
of course you will come with me. Perhaps he will be deceived, and stay
behind, especially as he has been there to-day. Then we can get the
horses and guns and ammunition, and anything else that we can carry in
the way of food, and persuade the old Molimo to open the gate for us.
You know, the little side gate that cannot be seen from up here, and
before Mr. Meyer misses us and comes to look, we shall be twenty miles
away, and--horses can't be overtaken by a man on foot.
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