Now there was not much more than an hour of daylight left, and the
narrow pass lay about three miles ahead of them. That dreadful three
miles; ever thereafter it was Benita's favourite nightmare! At the
beginning of it the leading Matabele were about two thousand yards
behind them; half-way, about a thousand; and at the commencement of the
last mile, say five hundred.
Nature is a wonderful thing, and great are its resources in extremity.
As the actual crisis approached, the weariness of these two seemed to
depart, or at any rate it was forgotten. They no longer felt exhausted,
nor, had they been fresh from their beds, could they have climbed or run
better. Even the horse seemed to find new energy, and when it lagged
Mr. Clifford dug the point of his hunting knife into its flank. Gasping,
panting, now one mounted and now the other, they struggled on towards
that crest of rock, while behind them came death in the shape of those
sleuth-hounds of Matabele. The sun was going down, and against its
flaming ball, when they glanced back they could see their dark forms
outlined; the broad spears also looked red as though they had been
dipped in blood. They could even hear their taunting shouts as they
called to them to sit down and be killed, and save trouble.
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