Here we had to dismount to descend a most fearful precipitous path
consisting of boulders piled together in the wildest confusion, from
one to another of which we had to jump, driving the horses before us.
Half-way down we off-saddled to rest ourselves, and as we did so we
noticed that the gall was running from one of the horses' noses. We knew
too well what was the matter, and so left him there to die during the
night. This horse was by far the finest we had with us, and his owner
used to boast that the poor beast had often carried him, a heavy man,
from his house to Pretoria, a distance of nearly ninety miles, in
one day. He was also a "salted" horse. It is a curious thing that the
sickness generally kills the best horses first.
After a short rest we started on again, and at the end of another hour
reached the bottom of the pass. From thence we rode along a gulley, that
alternately narrowed and widened, till at length it brought us right on
to Secocoeni's beautiful, fever-stricken home.
Pages:
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519