Ernest Glanville (continued 4)

“Frank,” she cried; “Frank, where are you?”

The reply was unexpected and startling.

“He is dead,” said a voice, hollow and unnatural; “and so will perish all who try to find his secret.”

Miss Anstrade shuddered with horror, and clutched Webster by the arm.

“What is it?” she asked, in a thrilling tone.

With an answering shudder, Webster threw up his gun and fired in the direction of the voice. After the brilliant flash, the darkness closed in blacker than before, and when the echoes of the report had rolled away in the sullen mutterings down the valley the silence was the deeper. They waited long, then went on quickly to the river, where they stood above the rushes, looking at the gleam upon the dark water, and listening with pale faces and beating hearts to faint whisperings and gurgling noises. Webster put his hand to his mouth and called, but his voice broke in a hoarse whisper, and he called again. There was no answer but the wail of a jackal, and after that the far-off booming of a lion’s roar.

“It is horrible,” she whispered, looking round over her shoulder, and pressing closer.

“Let me take you back.”

“No, this way; let us go along the river.”

Again there came a splash from the river, and then, within the shaft of light flashing on the water, there glowed two glittering green specks.

“Look!” she said, with a gasp.

“Hold the lantern,” he said quickly. The rifle rang out, and then the water was lashed into foam, and a dark body showed for a moment in the light.

“A crocodile,” he said, with a nervous laugh.

“A crocodile! Can it—oh, merciful heavens—do you remember when we saw the Irene—the shark?”

“Don’t,” he said, laying his hand on her shoulder.

A deep sigh came to their straining ears, followed by a confused noise.

“Oh,” she cried, “if I could only see what forms there are about I would not be afraid.”

“I think that noise is from the oxen,” he said.

“Baas,” came a warning shout, “pass op de leeuw!”

“That is Klaas—what does he cry? The leeuw—the lion—is it not? Ah, that is better. Give me the lantern again.”

She took the lantern, while Webster, with his rifle ready, kept by her shoulder, and they slowly advanced, following the shaft of light for the reflection of the lion’s eyes. Presently an ox moaned, there was a sound of horns clashing as the oxen bunched together, then the ground trembled to the roar of a lion, followed by the wild rush and crashing of branches. When they reached the waggon there was not an ox remaining. The Gaika, who loved his cattle, was raging about with a lighted brand in one hand and an assegai in the other, hurling insults at the lion.

“Mij ossa,” he said; “mij mooi swaart-bonte; oh! verdomde leeuw!”

“Where is the baas?” asked Webster, at his wits’ end.

“The baas is dead,” cried the Gaika; “mij ossa es dood, und ek is dood.”

Webster took the Kaffir by the arm and shook him. “Stop this noise and build up the fire.”

Klaas obeyed, piling dead brushwood on the coals till the flames mounted up, and shone on the white canvas and on the pale faces of Miss Anstrade and Webster, who stood looking out into the darkness for their missing friend. From far there sounded the wild bellow of an ox, followed presently by the complaining, wailing cry of a jackal and the devilish laugh of a hyaena.

“The lion eats,” muttered the Kaffir.

They longed for the light of day to reveal the dark mystery that hedged them in, and, above all, the meaning of that voice and its warning.

“Klaas, did you hear someone calling before I fired the first time?”

“Neh, sieur, I heard the lady call, and then the voice of the jackal, who led the lion here.”

“Can we have been mistaken?” she whispered; “and yet I heard it plainly: ‘He is dead, and so will perish all who seek his secret.’”

“He cannot be dead,” said Webster fiercely; “I will search again.”

This time Miss Anstrade remained by the fire, her rifle across her knees, and her eyes following the Will-o’-the-Wisp-like flashings of the lantern, while out of the blackness there rang the voice of Webster calling for his friend, a mournful cry that drew no response but the murmur of the river, and the still more plaintive call of a plover overhead. And sitting by the fire, with the light shining in her eyes, and her face resting on her hands, she still heard the voice calling out that Hume was dead, and she was sitting so when, after a long search, Webster came wearily and hopelessly back.

Before the morning, completely worn out, they dozed at their posts, and when there was light enough to show the ground the Gaika slipped away like a shadow towards the river, quartering the ground as he went, with his body bent, and his thin wide nostrils quivering. Reaching the river, he dwelt awhile over the spoor made by Webster, picking up an empty cartridge, then went up to the right, and presently, with a startled look, darted forward to where there projected the butt of a rifle from the rushes. It was Hume’s, and as he lifted it his quick glances roamed over the ground, noting the bruised grass, and then with a “Yoh” he jumped back, for a man stood beneath a tree looking at him with feverish eyes.

“Yinny,” said Klaas, fingering his assegai, and stooping his head to get a clearer view of the figure which was in the shade, then he rushed to the tree with a cry, “Baas, baas!”

It was indeed Frank Hume, gagged and fast bound to a mimosa-tree.

As the sun streamed over the valley the two sleepers by the dying fire awakened, and their haggard faces told how real had been the nightmare of the long night. The morning mist lay in a thick blanket over the river, and they shuddered to think what tragedy lay concealed under that winding-sheet, then started up to the sound of muffled voices, and the next minute advanced to meet two forms that loomed up vast.

“Halloa!” came a hail in a well-known voice.

“Thank God!” cried Webster, springing forward; but Miss Anstrade stood with her hand to her heart, looking wildly at this apparition.

Chapter Twenty One.

The Unknown.

“Thank Heaven you are alive!” cried Miss Anstrade, taking his hand in both of hers, and looking with tear-dimmed eyes into his face. “It seemed I was not free here from the curse that falls on those who are dear to me.”

She drew him to a seat, still holding his hand, and Webster, busily engaged in making hot coffee, stopped at times to place his hand affectionately on Frank’s shoulder.

“And where have you been all this fearful night?”

“Tied to a tree. Three times the light from your lantern fell upon me, and twice a hyaena came and stared at me. Ugh, the brute!”

“Tied to a tree? How did it happen, and that voice, did you hear it calling?”

Frank shuddered slightly.

“I heard it,” he said, “and I would have thought it supernatural, so like my uncle’s voice it was, had it been possible for a spirit to knock me down and bind me.”

“Strange,” she murmured. “I also thought it was your uncle calling, though I had never seen or heard him.”

“It struck me to the marrow,” said Webster, “and I fired at the sound out of sheer terror.”

They all sat silent for some time pondering over the mystery.

“It is beyond me,” said Hume wearily. “When I left you last night I expected to find some black, perhaps a woman, from the terror in the sound of her cry, fallen into the river, or caught by a crocodile, and I ran down to the bank, making noise enough to inform anyone of my whereabouts. On reaching the river I stood still, and without the slightest warning was felled to the ground. On recovering consciousness I found myself bound to a tree and gagged. It all happened within the space of ten minutes after leaving the waggon.”

“The cry was a decoy, then?”

“It must have been.”

“You saw no one?”

“No, nor heard the step of my assailant, though at the time I was listening intently.”

“His feet must have been naked, then?”

“Not necessarily, for he may have worn veldschoens, which give no sound. I examined the ground with Klaas before coming up, and we could see no spoor beyond that made by our party.”

“What possible object could he have had,” mused Webster, “since it was not your death he sought? Do you think he mistook you for someone else?”

“Impossible! Whoever did it must have watched us, and he could only have mistaken me for you. No one has a grudge against you.”

“I see it!” cried Miss Anstrade, who had been looking with knitted brows into the fire. “Just before dusk we were talking of the Golden Rock. It was possible for an enemy to creep up undetected and to listen to our talk.”

“Yes,” said Hume, and he felt for the pocket-book that contained the map.

“That is it,” she cried; “they have taken your secret.”

Frank opened the book with trembling fingers, while the others gazed anxiously, leaning forward.

“It is gone,” he said, starting up.

While they looked at each other, with pale faces, Klaas came up.

“Baas,” he said in a low voice. “Baas,” he repeated.

“Well?” said Hume sharply.

“De ossa is gone.”

“What!” shouted Hume, glad for some excuse to give vent to the anger and bitter disappointment that filled him.

“They were stampeded by lions,” said Webster.

“Didn’t I tell you to have them properly tied?”

“Yoh, my baas! But the rheims; someone cut them in the night. Come, see!”

“Good heavens! Can this be true?”

They ran to the trek-tow, and there saw that the tough rheims which secured each ox to the chain had been severed by a sharp instrument.

Hume laughed bitterly.

“Upon my soul,” he said, “you must think me a nice leader.”

“We can walk,” said Miss Anstrade, looking to the distant mountains.

“We could make a raft from the waggon timber, and float down the river,” said Webster.

“It is not the loss of the oxen I fear. We will recover enough of them to continue; it is the ease with which these unknown enemies have succeeded in their plans that troubles me. Now that I have lost the map I believe there does exist a Golden Rock, and their cunning and superior woodcraft will enable them to win it.”

“Nonsense,” she said; “they succeeded because we were off our guard. Now we know what we have to expect, we will oppose our wits to their cunning.”

“It is too late—they have the map—and will have a long start.”

“There was nothing in the map,” said Webster, “that I could not describe with a stick on this patch of sand.”

“Besides,” she said, with spirit, “do you suppose I am going to give up the search after coming all this way?”

“You are right,” replied Hume; “but it does not improve one’s spirit to be fast bound to a tree all night with a handkerchief in your mouth. Map or no map, we must find the Golden Rock.”

“That is better,” she said, with a smile. “Now, then, let us do something.”

Klaas set the example by starting off on the spoor of the oxen, armed with assegai and kerrie. Miss Anstrade sat down to draw, from memory, a facsimile of the lost map; Hume walked on to a small kopje to plan out the route, for there was no trace of road here; while Webster went down to the river to see whether he could decipher any explanation of the night’s mystery on its broad and shining surface. Long he listened to the murmur and ripple of the shallow river against huge round and jagged boulders strewn across its bed, and gazed into the dark beds of shade cast by the wild palmiet, but nowhere was there any trace of human life—not so much even as a piece of driftwood fashioned by man, or a broken beer-bottle, sign throughout the world of the passage of roaming Englishmen. Overhead passed a flight of cranes, their long legs trailing behind like rudders to steer them in their heavy flight, and from their long bills emitting, at intervals, the harsh cry with Nature’s melancholy note, while flocks of “sprews,” the white-bellied African starlings, flew, with noisy clatter, from side to side, and grey monkeys, their black faces rimmed in white, grimaced from waving branches. As he went down the bank, in and out among the thick bushes and clinging thorns, he started a troop of wild buffalo, which crashed off with many an angry snort, and a minute later was brought to a sudden stand by a moaning sound of no great volume, but conveying an undoubted warning. It proceeded from a cluster of rushes, and he moved his head from side to side in an endeavour to see what caused it, succeeding presently in detecting a slight movement made apparently by a small creature like a rat. Smiling at his doubts, he stepped forward, when once again the moaning was repeated, and he stooped down to peer more narrowly into the thicket. Then he saw that the small object was the tuft of a tail, and following the direction, he made the indistinct outline of a large animal crouching flat, and then, with a start, he met the full, fierce gaze of the yellow eyes. Cautiously he stepped back foot by foot until he reached the shelter of a tree, when the rushes shook, and out sprung a full-grown lion, which, after one look at him, trotted off after the buffalo which he had evidently been stalking.

“Phew!” said Webster, his heart thumping, “I suppose Frank would have shot the beggar, but hang me if I wasn’t pleased to see him cut.”

He waited for some time till his heart beat more regularly, then advanced with greater caution, examining each cluster of rushes and dark patch of bushes very carefully before passing. Half a mile further on the river took a bend and swept against a rampart of huge rocks flanked by a krantz, the home of a pair of white-headed eagles, whose harsh screams wakened weird echoes. Attracted to the wild spot, Webster stepped on one of the rocks, which jutted into the swirling water, to examine the krantz, and, noticing that caverns had been worn into the base by the water, he sprang from rock to rock till his way was barred by a smooth wall of slaty rock, which rose considerably above his head. Slinging his rifle over his back, he made use of his seamanship and quickly scaled the slope, slipped down on the other side, manoeuvred a narrow ledge, and stood in the first of a row of caves. There was nothing in this but a half-eaten fish, left evidently, from the signs, by an otter, but on rounding a slippery corner he entered a roomier cave. To his intense surprise, he saw that it had been occupied, and that recently. The walls and roof were blackened with smoke; on the smooth floor was a pile of ash, with the burnt ends of driftwood around, and on a ledge at the back was a mass of dried grass which had evidently served as a couch. He disturbed this with his gun, and dislodged a skin bag made of the entire skin of a monkey, the neck serving as an opening. Stepping to the mouth of the cave, he emptied its contents. These consisted of a copper cylinder, such as Kaffirs use to keep their “passes” clean, a necklet of crocodile teeth, a bracelet of solid ivory, stained with tobacco, and a lump of quartz, rounded at the edges from much friction. There was nothing in the cylinder, and Webster after a curious inspection of the quartz, which was heavy as lead almost, replaced the articles, and returned the bag to the ledge. He entered two other caves without finding anything fresh, and returned to the waggon, where he reported his discovery.

“You saw nothing to indicate whether the occupant was a European?” asked Hume.

“No; and I took it for granted he must be a black.”

“Natives don’t, as a rule, lead solitary lives, and still less could one of them dwell in loneliness by the side of a river, though the place may be the secret retreat of a witch-doctor.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Miss Anstrade, “the unknown visitor of last night and this hermit may be one and the same.”

“Well,” said Hume, “it is worth looking into; but in the absence of Klaas it would not be wise to leave the waggon.”

“I’ll run down and get the bag,” said Webster; “for there is nothing else in the cave from which you could draw conclusions.”

He started off, and in half an hour returned with the bag.

“This is Kaffir work, certainly,” said Hume; “but,” putting it to his nose, “it has not the native flavour, strong and pungent. This string of teeth threaded on a gut is native, and so is this bracelet. Humph! Quartz. What a weight!” He opened his knife and scraped the surface. “Why, look here; it is half gold.”

A streak of shining yellow showed on one side, between two white veins of crystal.

“It’s as rich as that piece which my uncle broke from the Golden Rock. I wonder where he found it?”

“There’s something more in the bag,” said Miss Anstrade.

“It’s the empty cylinder,” said Webster.

She slipped her hand in, drew out the little tube and opened it, at the same time uttering a cry of surprise.

“Look here!” she said, drawing out a roll of paper.

“I swear,” said Webster, with excitement, “it was empty when I found it, for I placed my finger in.”

She flattened the paper out, and looked at them with eyes wide-opened, and a flush on her cheek.

There, in her hand, lay the missing copy of the map!

Each in turn took it, turned it over and over with a blank look.

“Well, I’m hanged,” muttered Webster, under his breath. “That fellow must have placed that paper in the tube after I left the cave, and probably watched me the whole time, yet I never caught a glimpse of him.”

“He is some half-witted native,” said Hume, after a long pause.

“You forget the cry, after your disappearance. That was the voice of a white man who knew you or your uncle, and had learnt the object of our journey.”

“True, I had forgotten that. Still, one of my uncle’s men, escaping from the attack made upon his camp, may have taken up his home in the cave, and have lost his mind in the solitude. Such a man might have learnt about the Golden Rock, and he would have picked up a few words of English.”

They now heard the lowing of oxen, and presently Klaas appeared with the runaways. Hume quickly counted fifteen.

“Well, Klaas, did you search far?”

The Gaika stretched his naked arm out and swept it round. “They stood all about, some in one place, some in others, but I whistled to them, and they were joyful to see a man. Three I could not find, but the body of one.”

“You have done well, Klaas. What are these things?” and Hume handed over the bag and contents.

“Yoh! Kaffir man made these, but a white man uses them.”

“A white man?”

“Yah, sieur, it is so. It smell white man.”

The three looked at each other with uplifted eyebrows, while Klaas turned the necklet over in his hand.

“That settles it,” said Hume. “Let us search for the stranger. But, as he may be on the look-out, I will make a circuit to the top of the krantz, while you go towards the base, and leave the bag on some rock that can be seen from above.”

This was done. Webster placed the bag on a rock well out in the river, and then retired towards the camp, while Hume watched behind an aloe. For an hour he waited without seeing aught, then descended to the bottom, and himself examined the cave, without, however, finding any fresh evidence. He then returned to the camp.

“It is no use,” he said; “we should be wasting valuable time in searching for this mysterious being. If he had some design in taking that map we should be serving his purpose by lingering here. Inspan, Klaas.”

The oxen were yoked, and the waggon moved on slowly, Hume going ahead to mark out the road, and Webster, taking the “trek-tow,” or looped rheim to guide the leaders.

Before dusk they outspanned on a grassy knoll, and set to work at once with axes to build a fence round. The oxen were driven to the water, allowed to graze a short time, then driven into the enclosure and tied up. Fuel was stacked up in preparation for fires, supper was made and eaten, and then they sat talking about the man of the krantz until the clamorous howling of jackals warned them to be on watch. Miss Anstrade retired to the waggon, the sail was drawn down and two huge fires lit, one on either side of the oxen. Hume crept under, the waggon, and was soon in a deep sleep, while Webster and Klaas, on either side the waggon, kept watch.

Chapter Twenty Two.

A Startling Visit.

To Webster there was nothing unfamiliar in the lonely watches of the night, and the first long silent stretch recalled to him many a fleeting memory of hours spent upon the bridge amid the dark waters, when the mystery of night would close down upon the ship, bringing with it all manner of fancies and haunting superstitions. There was here, in this unpeopled land, the same brooding stillness, the same murmur in the air; and the deep darkness, too, was instinct and alive with the same sense of things unreal. It seemed as though, beyond the flickering circle of ruddy light cast by the crackling fires, there were forms peering in, under cover of the shadows which concealed them, at those within the light, and now and again he would strain his eyes and finger the rifle that rested across his knees.

The minutes slipped by quietly, with an occasional sigh from a contented ox; then the long, wailing cry of a jackal rose and fell, to be followed, as though it were a signal, by the deep, hollow growl of a lion. The oxen stirred uneasily, and Klaas came softly up with his red blanket wrapped about him.

“Seen anything, Klaas?”

“Nix, sieur; but I hear de leeuw.”

“Will he jump the fence?”

“Ek dink so. The wind blows across, and he will come from that side.”

“We will hear him when he springs?”

“Neh, baas, he will come over where it is dark, and lie still against the ground, so that we could walk up to him without seeing, though he sees us.”

Webster picked up a bull’s-eye lantern, pushed back the slide, and shot a vivid fan-like shaft into the gloom.

“Come, then, you hold this, and I will shoot.”

They piled fresh wood on the fires, then mounted to the waggon-box, and tried the range of the light over the oxen. At the radiance they turned their heads, and their large eyes shone reflected. Webster pushed back the slide, and they sat waiting—the one with his finger on the trigger of his Express, and the other with the lantern, which sent up a steaming vapour into his face, and a faint reflection shining upon his gleaming eyes.

Presently, just beyond the fence on the right, there broke out a booming roar that made the air vibrate, and brought the oxen to their feet. It died away in a hollow growl, and was repeated again and again from different quarters. The oxen bunched together, and Miss Anstrade knocked against the tent, while Hume called out from his lair beneath the waggon.

“It’s all right,” said Webster, “the fires are burning, and we are prepared.”

Hume crept out, and finding that the back of the waggon was unprotected, he hung a lantern there, and then went back to his couch, with the muzzle of his rifle pointing into the light thus thrown.

Klaas called out to his oxen by name to soothe them, and at the sound of his voice the two great red-and-white wheelers laid down with a grunt.

For a time there was a spell of stillness, more disquieting than the terrific chorus that had awakened far-off echoes from every roving troop of jackals.

“De leeuw talk now,” whispered Klaas.

“Talk—what about?”

“They tell what they do. The young ones wait over there and shout; the old man creep round on this side, say nothing, and jump over.”

“And you think they are settling that plan now?”

“Yoh, sieur; they make plan, bymby begin work. See, there!”

A second burst of roaring made the ground tremble, and the movement and the vibration in the air seemed to communicate more quickly the terror in the sound. It swelled and fell, and rose again, and at each pause the after-growl came in more threatening and ferocious.

“There, baas,” said the Gaika, in a thrilling whisper, dropping his long hand in a fierce grasp on Webster’s arm.

“What?” asked Webster, raising his rifle, and looking eagerly to the left.

“He jumped just now. Is the baas ready?”

“Yes.”

The slide was opened, and the brilliant light, released, shot out into the darkness beyond the fires, and, under the steady hand of the Gaika, swept along the fence, throwing out the white scars on the broken branches. It crept back again, and the two men, with eager eyes and every nerve alert, followed the beam for sign of the fierce visitor. Three times the light swept over the ground, and Webster levelled his rifle; but just then the lamp was held still and the Kaffir made a slight noise, while his breathing became quicker.

Webster followed the light in vain.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Skit, baas, skit!” said the Kaffir.

“I can see nothing.”

“There, there, sieur!” pointing with his assegai.

Suddenly out of the path of the light, near the ground, and apparently detached from any object, glared two balls of yellow fire, and at the same time came a low growl.

Guided now by these two luminous orbs, Webster saw a faint outline on the yellow ground.

The Kaffir clicked with his tongue impatiently.

Webster sighted between the eyes and fired.

Upon the report there followed a savage roar, and the next moment the waggon shook to the thud of some great body hurled against it.

There was a shriek from the waggon, then a muffled report.

“What is it?” shouted Hume, as he crept out from under the waggon. He caught the lantern and rushed round, just as Webster had slipped another cartridge into his rifle. The uproar was terrific. The oxen bellowed as they strained at their rheims, the lions beyond the fence roared, and from beside the waggon there rose a series of blood-curdling growls and coughs. Both guns flashed out together and the assailant laid stretched out. It was a huge yellow-maned lion, still gasping. The Kaffir drove his assegai into the heaving body, and then both Hume and Webster rushed to the waggon.

“Are you all right?” they cried.

She drew the canvas flap on one side and looked out, with her hair falling forward in heavy coils.

“What was it?” she asked.

“A wounded lion sprang upon the waggon tent.”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“No; but the lion is dead.”

“I thought something dreadful had happened, and fired as much from terror as anything.”

Hume rolled the great body over and examined it.

“Your bullet went home, at any rate, Miss Laura, and you have killed your first lion.”

“Let me see.” She drew her wraps about her, and was about to descend, when, with a shudder and a nervous laugh, she crept back, dismayed by the darkness.

The three men now walked round the enclosure, fired a couple of chance shots, restarted the fires, and returned to their posts. The uproar had subsided, and was succeeded by another spell of oppressive silence, broken at lessening intervals by a vague sound, which grew in volume, but not in distinctness, and before which the other sounds did not revive. As it grew louder it took on a rhythmical beat not unpleasant.

“It sounds like a human voice,” said Webster.

“Yes, it is a black man chanting, eh, Klaas?”

“Eweh, inkose, he sings as he walks;” and so speaking, the Kaffir stretched himself by the fire and drew his blanket over his head.

“He evidently fears no danger,” remarked Webster.

“I don’t know,” said Hume, and stirred the Gaika; “what manner of man can this be who walks abroad in the night, making sign of his presence to the lions?”

“It is the wizard,” replied the Gaika solemnly, “and it is not well to look on him. Even the beasts quit his path;” and once again he pulled the blanket over his head.

The man approached rapidly, and now the deep chest notes rolling forth in a rough melody took shape from the mighty volume of sound, and now he was at the fence; and now, with a cry of “Layate,” he leaped the thorns—a wonderful bound—and still chanting, he came up to the waggon, paused a moment at the body of the lion, then stepped to the fire, and stood there with the glow upon his tall form and in his smouldering eyes. A black man he was, of gigantic mould, with a tiger skin knotted by the fore-paws round his neck, and with a mass of bone necklets that clattered at every movement. On his forehead was a large ball of hair, behind which rose two eagle’s feathers, and he carried a bundle of sticks and assegais, while from his shoulder hung a large skin bag.

“Who are you, and what is your business?” asked Hume, after looking intently at the stranger.

The man shook his head, and his wild, roving eyes, shifting uneasily like those of an animal, glanced from object to object, dwelling at last upon the rolled-up figure of Klaas. Him, presently, he prodded with the butt of an assegai, and grinned till his white teeth gleamed.

“Stand up, Klaas,” said Hume sternly, and the Gaika, with a sullen look, rose, and gradually raised his eyes from the feet to the dreaded face. Then, like two fierce and strange dogs meeting, they stood fronting each other—the one with a commanding look, the other with lowering frown and quivering nostrils.

The stranger spoke, but the Gaika shook his head in turn.

“What does he say?” asked Hume.

“He speaks strangely, sieur.”

“Is he a witch-doctor?”

“He is not of my people, nor of the Zulus, and his toes turn out.”

“I wonder if this is our hermit?” said Webster.

“Ay, the same thought occurred to me; and the man who could leap over that fence as he did could have no difficulty in knocking me down.”

While they were talking the stranger looked at them furtively.

Hume cut a piece off a twist of Boer tobacco, and handed it to the man, who took it with a gleam of satisfaction, cut a fragment off with his assegai and put it into his mouth. The Gaika stalked away and crept under the waggon, the stranger stopping his jaws to watch him, until he heard the sigh of a man who lies down to sleep, when he appeared more at ease. Presently he squatted by the fire, spreading his hands before him, and, in a guttural voice, said, “Brandy.”

“His vocabulary may be limited,” said Webster dryly; “but it is useful,” and he went to the waggon-box for the stone demijohn in which they carried the Dop brandy.

Hume had his eye on the man and saw him shift an assegai to his right hand, whereupon he pulled back the hammer of his rifle with a click that drew a swift, furtive glance upon him.

The brandy was poured out and drunk with a resounding smack, and in jubilation he shouted out, after the Kaffir fashion, a few words of praise, and at the noise the oxen stirred.

“Yoh!” came a sharp exclamation.

“Is that you, Klaas?”

“The bush, sieur—the bush; it moves!”

“What the devil— Look after that fellow, Jim, while I see into this,” and Hume bolted round the waggon.

“Well, Klaas?”

The Gaika was not there, but Hume heard him talking to the oxen, and ran forward.

“What is it?”

“Men come in to cut rheims again, and take away the bush fence.”

“Where are they?” said Hume, throwing up his rifle.

“They run when they see me. That man by the fire no good. So I went by the waggon and watch—bymby, when he drink and cry out one word, he shout in Zulu, baleka (quick). So I leave the waggon.”

“Hold that fellow!” shouted Hume, but there came a stifled cry from Webster, and when he got round the man had gone, and Jim was rubbing his eyes.

“Hang the swab,” he said; “he threw a handful of dust in my eyes when I attempted to seize him, and bounded away. What new devilment’s afoot?”

“That fellow was in league with someone, and another attempt has been made to stampede the oxen. They beat us at every turn.”

“You are very noisy out there,” said a voice from the waggon.

“We have been entertaining a guest, and he has just left us,” said Hume, with a wry face.

“A guest in this place, and at such an hour! You should have given me an opportunity of sharing the pleasure.”

“We did not wish to disturb you.”

A close inspection was made of the fence, and three large branches, which had been removed, were replaced. Then the three men, each taking up a different post, kept watch again until the dawn.

Chapter Twenty Three.

A Duel.

They agreed to keep back from Laura the alarming incident of the night, and when she stepped out in the morning, full of curiosity, they made light of their strange visitor, and drew her attention instead to the huge body of the old lion. But though they would give her no cause for fresh anxiety, their minds were troubled and their glances continually roaming over the country for sign of the danger they were sure was preparing for them.

“It is not right,” said Hume, “that we should expose her to these terrors and risks.”

“True, my lad; and there is a look in her eyes already which I do not like.”

“What are you talking about so gloomily?” she asked.

“The fact is,” said Frank gravely, “we have made a mistake in bringing you into this wilderness, and we think we should take you back to Pretoria, or, at any rate, to some farm where you could stay safely while we returned from the search.”

“Then something did occur last night,” she said, looking from one to the other.

“The lion occurred,” said Webster, with the ghost of a smile.

“There is nothing very terrible in a dead lion. You are keeping back something from me.”

“We are just entering upon the most dangerous part of our journey, and the risks we have encountered are nothing compared to those we must expect, but they have been bad enough to alarm us on your account. We feel that we cannot expose you to the dangers and strain of constant alarms.”

“You should know by this time,” she said slowly, “that I am prepared to encounter danger, and we have already discussed and faced this very matter when we reckoned up the difficulties and hardships of the enterprise. I am resolved to continue unless my presence tires you.”

“Heaven forbid!” they muttered.

“Then be satisfied,” she said, with a sad smile; “you are relieved of the responsibility which you think due to me because I am a woman, for if I knew death were awaiting me over there among those grim mountains I would not draw back.”

They shuddered.

“Come,” she said, “I have put into words what was in your thoughts. Tell me now what happened last night, and let me judge whether the danger be the greater.”

So they told her.

“Now, see, if you had not told me I should have magnified horrors out of the unknown; but now the incident sinks into the plot of a cunning native to steal our oxen. These people can have no designs on your lives.”

They sat down to their little camp table, and then for an hour afterwards they cut bundles of long grass for their oxen that night, as Hume was determined to make long treks until they reached the vlei or lake.

The oxen were then inspanned, and they started, Hume going on ahead, Miss Anstrade sitting in the back of the waggon with her little rifle, while Webster handled the long whip, and Klaas led the oxen. They passed along a ridge, whose wooded slopes sank to the river, disturbing many troops of big game as the waggon creaked and rumbled slowly on between huge ant-hills, and in and out among aloes standing like sentinels. At noon they reached the lip of the plateau, and below them stretched a wide plain, where gleamed a large sheet of water, with moving troops of game around. Here they outspanned for the mid-day rest, and with the map before them traced the route taken by Old Hume, away to the right, across the river, through a wide belt of reeds, which shone in the sun like a white streak, then up the far-distant range of rugged mountains.

“I feel within me the glow of the explorer who sees the mists veiling the bed of a mighty and unknown river,” said Miss Anstrade, as she looked with kindling eyes over the low-lying country. “But the way seems so easy that a horrible doubt arises. Surely someone must have been before us.”

“What do you think, Webster?”

“It seems to me to be plain sailing; but no doubt a nearer view would open up reefs and difficulties.”

“Yes, difficulties enough. Now, see that belt of reeds looking like a ribbon for thickness: it must be three miles in width and saturated with water. It will need a struggle to get through. Then there is the mountain to climb, and a particular spot in it to find, and beyond that the dangers from those who are said to protect the Rock; but before we enter upon any of those tasks we have to reach that sheet of water, which must be some twenty miles off, and there we may be forced to abandon our waggon.”

“Why should we?—the country looks quiet enough.”

“Well, our party is too small to divide, and in anything we attempt we must keep together. As for the country being quiet, I can see smoke rising from three different kraals, and depend upon it, as soon as the people see us they will swarm round, ready to beg, steal, or fight.”

The day was sultry, with a hot steam rising from the marshy lowlands, and they soon sought the welcome shade of the baobab, whose wide-spreading branches sent down roots to the ground. The ground beneath, in a wide circle, had been trampled bare of grass by buffalo and wild beast, which had here resorted to rub their tough hides against the rough stems; there were the remains, too, of old fires, and on the parent trunk, high up, where the bark was smooth, the handiwork of some roving white man, who had deeply scored his initials.

“It is quite a fresh scar,” said Webster, noticing the marks.

“By Jove, yes! and made within the day; for, see, here are parts of the old bark on the ground. What is it? D.H.—the initials of my uncle.”

“Baas,” said Klaas warningly; “here come men.”

They started round, snatched up their rifles, and looked about to see a small body of natives hesitating whether to advance or not.

“Advance,” said Hume in Zulu.

The leading man at once stepped forward, the others following, and in a few moments six stalwart natives, armed with assegais and shields, were looking curiously at the small party of whites.

“Greeting, inkose,” said the leader in deep tones, looking out of the corner of his eye at Miss Anstrade.

“To you also,” said Hume quietly.

The men stood silent for a full minute; but their quick glances took in every detail, coming back always to the slender form of the white lady.

“I come from the great chief, Gungunhama, the strong one,” said the leader, “and demand a present from the stranger.”

“Demand?” said Hume.

“Oh, ay, the country is his, the game in it, and the people. Inkose must pay, or take the path he has travelled.”

“You have flown fast if you come from Gungunhama, for his kraal is six suns away.”

“My chief is not one who sends a word to each white man who enters his country. He moves himself only when he wishes to strike, and his word is spoken to little people through his Indunas.”

“So,” said Hume, swallowing his wrath, “I have a present for the chief; but I must know that the man I give it to is the one authorised to receive.”

“You are few, and one of you is a woman,” said the Zulu, coolly taking a pinch of snuff. “So I brought only these men. If your present is large I can bring a regiment, that of Incornati, to-night, and my young men are quick to anger.”

This was a veiled threat that checked Hume, who had been disposed to carry matters with a high hand.

“Sit!” he said, “and eat. Klaas, give these men meat.”

Klaas did as he was ordered, and the Zulus eyed him disdainfully at first, then subjected him to a running fire of stinging criticism. Presently he answered back, and one of the younger men struck at his shins with a kerrie.

The Gaika’s blood was up, and flinging the venison down in the ashes, he ran for his sticks, while the young Zulu, with a jeering laugh, rose to his feet.

“Drop those sticks, Klaas,” shouted Hume angrily.

Klaas hesitated, then sullenly replaced his kerries and turned away, whereat the Zulus laughed again.

“It is not fitting that we should serve ourselves,” said the Induna; “let this servant wait on us.”

Hume called to the Gaika to attend to the guests, but he clicked his tongue and would not move.

“Come,” said Miss Anstrade gently; “do as you are told, Klaas.”

Thereupon Klaas moved slowly to the fire, placed the kettle on to boil, and made coffee, while all the time a running fire of chaff was turned on him.

“It seems they want to provoke him,” muttered Webster, with an unfriendly glance at the arrogant natives.

“Yes,” said Hume, “and it is contrary to their custom, for Zulus are aristocrats.”

When the visitors had fed, Hume brought out from the waggon a roll of coloured print, a railway rug, and a few knives, which he laid on the ground.

The Induna regarded them contemptuously, and, after a long argument, Hume added a couple of blankets and a roll of brass wire to the articles. At a shout from the Induna, four other men appeared, gathered up the presents, and departed. Then the Induna demanded something for himself, and receiving a quarter of what he asked, presently rose, whereupon the young Zulu, a tall and powerful savage, deliberately emptied the steaming contents of his pannikin over Klaas’ bare feet. With a bound Klaas reached his sticks, and this time Hume did not interfere.

“You will not let them fight,” implored Miss Anstrade.

“Yes,” said Hume; “Klaas comes of a tribe who have no equals in the use of sticks, and he will teach this young brute a lesson. Now,” he continued, turning to the Induna, “you wish these men to fight. Let them; but if one of you raises a hand to help I will shoot him.”

The Induna smiled contemptuously.

“A Zulu is better than three slaves and sons of slaves. My man will beat him; but you must not help either. Let them battle in the open, and we will stand here.”

Miss Anstrade cast one shuddering look at the two men; then, suddenly running forward, she dipped her handkerchief in the water, bade Klaas lift his foot, and made a bandage round the inflamed ankle. Then she climbed into the waggon and stopped her ears to the fierce sound of the strife.

Klaas threw his head back and shouted the Gaika war-cry, then rolled a blanket about his left arm, and moved forward with his long iron-wood kerrie outstretched. He was an older man than the Zulu, shorter, and thinner, and his much-patched clothes made his movements appear awkward when compared with the agile grace of the almost naked Zulu, whose smooth skin shone like satin. In his left hand the Zulu held a long shield, while he twirled in his left hand a short but heavily-knobbed kerrie.

“They are not fairly matched,” growled Webster; “and that fellow has a further advantage in his shield and heavy stick.”

“The Gaika does not think so. Look at his face.”

The small eyes of the Kaffir glistened like those of an animal, and he followed every movement of the Zulu, who was going through a performance by which he meant to strike his opponent with terror at his prowess. He leaped into the air, bounded from side to side, danced on his toes, twisted, turned, struck at the ground—all the time accompanying these antics with shouts and deep grunts.

“Enough,” said the Gaika; “these are for children. Stand still and fight.”

The Zulu paused, astonished, then, with his shield before him, he advanced, crouching to the attack, and springing suddenly into the air struck swiftly a blow that would have settled the fate of Klaas had he not been prepared, but springing lightly to one side, he rapped his enemy across his broad back.

The Zulu bounded forward out of reach, turned, and again advanced impetuously, his glaring eyeballs showing above the feathered tuft at the end of his shield.

This time Klaas did not wait, but swinging his five feet of tough kerrie, he delivered, in rapid succession, three sweeping blows, one at the head, the next at the body, and the last at the bare toes, and then sprang back to keep the proper distance for a telling blow. The Zulu rushed in again, to be again beaten back by blows delivered with lightning rapidity, one of which drew the blood from his forehead; then he sprang from side to side, advanced, retreated, and feinted, until his movements were almost too rapid to follow, and at last bounded forward with stick uplifted.

“By Jove!” muttered Webster, “he will kill him.”

The Gaika had his kerrie trailing from his side, and as the Zulu bounded through the air he made a sweeping blow upwards, which, falling full on the Zulu’s elbow, made him drop his stick. As it fell, Klaas knocked it away with a backhanded blow, and sprang between it and his foe.

There was a fierce cry from the Induna, a triumphant shout from the two white men, and the tall Zulu, standing with his arm at his side, looked with bloodshot eyes and curling lips at the despised Kaffir. A minute he stood panting heavily, then his hand stole behind his shield, and he drew forth a short-hafted, long-bladed stabbing assegai.

“Stop!” thundered Hume.

“It is a fight,” said the Induna, sullenly fingering his assegai.

“All right, my baas,” said Klaas, and, with his left arm across his body, he shook his stick.

The Zulu threw forward his shield at full length, and walked forward warily, determined to get in one stab, his right arm held back out of reach of that whirling stick.

“It is murder,” said Webster hoarsely.

Twice the long blade darted out like the tongue of a snake, and the second time it pierced the Gaika’s thigh; but the Gaika was not idle, and the air whistled to his rushing blows, and the drumming on the hard shield was continuous. Still the Zulu pressed relentlessly, though the blood trickled over his face, and his shoulders showed the marks of angry blows. At last he gave his war-cry, “Zu-tu,” and throwing his shield above his head, made one fierce thrust. The blade was caught, however, in the folds of the blanket, and the kerrie came with a sounding crack across the unprotected shins, bringing the Zulu to the ground. Klaas picked up the assegai, and threw his hand back to stab, but Hume, expecting this, reached his side and seized his wrist. Then the prostrate Zulu bounded to his feet, and ran to his friends for another assegai.

“Enough!” cried Hume sternly. “Go!”

In five minutes the little party were left alone, the Induna and his followers having moved off without a word.

“Are you hurt, Klaas?” said Hume, while Webster shook the Kaffir by his bruised and bleeding hand.

“Neh, baas; the Zulu is no good with kerrie. Will baas give me supje brandy?”

The baas gave him two, which Klaas drank with a smack of his lips, then with his eyes still glowing, he swelled out his chest and sang his song of victory.

An hour afterwards, when his wounds had been looked to, the order was given to inspan.

The oxen were grazing near the waggon when the Zulus appeared; but now they were missing. A few minutes’ search showed them far down the plain, being driven away, while the sun shone on the spears of a large number of blacks seated in a circle behind them.

Hume brought out the glass and examined the group.

“There is the Induna,” he said, shutting the glass and turning with a set face to Webster and Miss Anstrade.

“Well,” said Webster, “of course he is there; but you have paid him, and he will send the oxen back.”

“No, they mean trouble. They came here prepared to kill Klaas, and they have stolen our oxen so that they can attack us at their leisure. What do you say, Klaas?”

“Yah, sieur. They think Kaffir too quick, and they want to kill him first, then kill masters after. Chief tell his people now that we hurt one of his men. That is enough.”

“It is pretext enough,” said Hume bitterly; “and I should not have allowed the fight.”

“We have four guns,” said Webster, “and plenty of ammunition and provisions if they attack us.”

“And if they don’t,” said Miss Anstrade quietly, “we must leave the waggon and walk.”

“We have first to think of defence,” said Hume gloomily, eyeing the waggon and the great tree. “We shall want time to talk over our plans and get together the articles we want. They may attack to-night.” He paced off the width of the tree, then did the same to the waggon. “That is it, we must draw the waggon up parallel with the trunk, leaving a space of twelve feet between, then build a turf wall with an outer fence of thorns.”

This was done. After strenuous efforts the heavy waggon was drawn up, and with pick, shovel, and axe they set to work in feverish haste.

“They are moving,” said Miss Anstrade, who was keeping watch, “and coming this way.”

Chapter Twenty Four.

The Attack.

“They are coming this way,” said Miss Anstrade.

“Open fire at them,” said Hume, “when they come within range,” and he stooped his back to widen the trench around the little camp.

Webster drove in his pick, and looked sidelong at Laura, who stood with her rifle in her hand, staring blankly at Hume.

“I may hit them,” she said falteringly.

“So much the better,” was the grim response.

The sod wall rose higher against the outside wheels of the waggon, and the Gaika had already lopped off a large number of branches from the mimosa-trees, together with some stunted wacht-en-beetje bushes.

“We must close up the ends with bags and boxes. Let us have them out.”

“I can see the colour of their shields now, and some of the men are springing into the air.”

“They mean to attack, then,” said Hume, pausing a moment to glance down the hill. “Put up the five hundred yards’ sight.”

“Hark, I hear them shouting.”

Klaas heard, too, and as he swung the axe, he answered with a deep-chested war-cry.

A moment later there was a dull report, and a bullet whistled overhead.

“By Jove, they have rifles, and there can be no mistake about their intention. Shoot, Laura.”

The little rifle came to the shoulder, and her white cheek was pressed to the butt, but the barrel shook, and she lowered it. She looked round at the two men, and seeing the look of anxiety on their faces as they hurried on with their work, she threw the rifle up again and pressed the trigger.

A deep, booming shout replied.

“I hope I have not hit anyone,” she said anxiously.

Webster laughed; but Klaas, in his excitement at the first shot, bounded forward, swinging his axe and hurling insults at the foe.

“Come back, you fool!” shouted Hume hoarsely.

The Gaika danced back on his toes, and at his curious antics Miss Anstrade laughed; but at the sight of the passion in his face the laugh ended hysterically.

“Come behind the boxes, Laura,” cried Webster.

“I would rather stand here until you are ready,” she said proudly, while with trembling fingers she extracted the empty cartridge and inserted another. The sharp crack of her rifle rang out again, and then she began to fire rapidly.

At last the barricade was finished, and the little laager was complete, flanked on one side by the huge tree, on the left by the waggon and bank of turf, at the ends by boxes and bags.

“Now for the outer fence,” said Hume; and climbing over the boxes they began quickly to draw the thorn branches, with the stems in. This outer fence left a clear space of about fifteen feet.

“Pass up, sieur,” cried Klaas, as Hume walked out to cut down another tree; “there are men creeping round.”

“Get my gun!”

Klaas sprang for the heavy weapon; and Hume stood on an ant-hill to take a look at the foe. They appeared halting about three hundred yards off, with their shields before them, and their waving plumes nodding above, while their assegai blades threw off the sunlight in sparks.

“They have not moved,” said Miss Anstrade, “since I fired.”

But Klaas knew differently, and his keen eyes had seen a few men glide into the long grass, to show themselves momentarily at lessening intervals, and when he judged they were too near to be pleasant he cried out:

“There, baas! there, my good baas, by the round bush!” indicating a spot about one hundred yards away.

As Hume raised his Express a bullet struck the ant-hill beneath him, while a cloud of smoke drifted away from a rock to the right of the bush. At this there was a shout from the main body, and the enemy dashed forward.

The Express covered the bush, and as the leaves shook it cracked, then, swinging his gun round, he covered one of the advancing troop and fired again.

“Hit!” said Webster.

“To the laager!” shouted Hume; and the little party clambered into the enclosure.

“Lie down, Laura, there, under the waggon.”

“Will they get in?” she asked.

Hume fired twice.

“Too high, Jim; aim at their feet. No, they won’t come within sixty yards;” and he fired again.

The shouts of the Zulus rose hoarse and terrible, mingled with shrill whistling. On they rushed, right up to the outer barricade, and then, as they were brought up, and the terrible Express bullets tore through them, they hurled their throwing assegais, then scattered and fled for shelter. Some of the assegais entered the little fort and were embedded in the earth, their hafts quivering; others glanced along the branches, and many stuck into the waggon.

“That was a warm rush,” said Webster; “and if it had not been for the mercy of that fence we would have been speared to a certainty.”

Hume was passing a cleaner through the barrels of his Express, and looking over the box barricade at the enemy, or, rather, for a sign of them, for they had apparently sunk into the earth. He did not reply, but turned presently and looked at Miss Anstrade.

“Well?” she questioned.

“If they make another rush, having now warmed to it, two rifles will not keep them back, and then—”

“Yes.”

“There can only be one end,” he looked at her with sad eyes, and then added, “for us.”

“And for me?” she asked.

He turned away.

She came from under the waggon.

“I understand,” she said firmly; “and if they come again there will be three rifles.”

No sooner had she stood up, than an assegai, hurled from the rear, whizzed by her head and plunged into the tree. Before they could turn, Klaas with one bound sprang over the barricade, and, throwing his hand back, launched an assegai at a small bush beyond the fence, then quickly darted another; and, as the second spear rattled through the leaves, a tall Zulu sprang up. Springing over the bushes he leapt towards the fence, and, with one terrific bound cleared its bristling height, the tufted armlets and long feathers streaming behind, and as he reached the ground he thundered his war-cry. Before this magnificent rush the Gaika held his ground, his body stooping, the slender assegai quivering in his fingers as he poised it, and, as the Zulu struck the ground the weapon sped from his hand. Swift it flew, and straight, so that it seemed there could be no escape from its thirsting blade; but the Zulu’s shield met it, and with a sure turn of the wrist, sent it whirring harmlessly through the thorns.

Then the Gaika, weaponless, tore the shirt from his body, baring his naked breast, and stood with folded arms. The Zulu caught the Kaffir by his arm, and, towering up a full head taller, glared down into his eyes, and raised his stabbing assegai.

At the sight, the three spectators in the little fort stood horrified, while from behind numerous ant-hills there rose up men to watch the scene.

“Klaas,” said a quiet, authoritative voice, “fall down, and I will shoot.”

At the voice the Zulu fixed his fierce and bloodshot eyes upon the group, dwelt for a moment on the white face of the lady, then rested with a questioning look.

“Eh, Hu-em,” he cried, then drew the point of his spear across the muscular breast of the Kaffir, leaving a lone red line. His hand relaxed, and Klaas, turning, was inside the laager in a moment, where he picked up another assegai.

The Zulu stood between the fence and the barricade, calmly looking at the white men, and presenting, as he stood there, the very picture of war, with courage expressed in the poise of his head, command in the fearless glance of his eye, character and will in the clear sweep of his clean-cut jaws, strength in the broad shoulders, and activity in the straight limbs, all bone and muscle.

“Do not shoot him,” answered Miss Anstrade.

“Shoot him! Good heavens, no! Is it Sirayo?”

“Yebo!”

Hume sprang over the boxes, and ran with outstretched hands to the great warrior, who had led the last charge at the battle of Ulundi, and had distinguished himself in a hundred desperate fights.

“Why are you fighting against us, Sirayo, my friend?”

“I was told you were bad people. So I came here to kill or die. What matters it? Sirayo is no longer a chief, his assegai is at anyone’s command.”

“Come in, my friend. We are not bad; these people have three times tried to steal our cattle, now they would take our lives. We are but four, and one is a woman.”

“Tell me the story,” said the Zulu, “and I will listen.”

Hume told him all that had occurred, and when he had finished Sirayo turned once more, dragged a thorn-bush away, and stepping through, advanced into the open.

Hume stood anxiously waiting, and Webster, coming to his side, asked if he should shoot.

“Wait; I know this man well. There is no treachery in him, and he may prove our friend.” Still he waited breathlessly.

Sirayo stopped when he was near the enemy, and then, striking his assegai against his shield, he told them they had lied.

“You brought me against these people with false stories; I find they are my friends, and my shield is their shield, my assegai is their assegai. But, inasmuch as you came here thinking you had the help of Sirayo, I stand here to meet any of you hand to hand, lest you say I fled from you when there was danger.”

No one took up the challenge, which was received with a howl of rage, but presently man called to man until the news was carried to the Induna, who directed the attack from afar, and at his command there was a general movement towards that end of the laager where Sirayo stood.

At this the chief, not carrying defiance to the point of foolishness, returned into the camp, closing up the fence after him, and entered the laager. There was no time for talk, for the enemy appeared to be gathering for another rush, and fire was opened to check them, but when they altered their minds and drew off, Hume asked the chief the paramount question, whether the laager was strong enough to resist a determined attack.

Sirayo stretched his arms.

“You are in a hole; good if you can keep them out, but a death-trap if they enter, and when the night comes they will pull away the thorns. See this tree? I already had marked it, and meant in the dark to send six young men. They would have climbed secretly into its branches and dropped among you. No; if you would live you must steal away.”

“They will be on the watch.”

“No. They know you cannot attack them, and before the dawn, after they have drawn away the thorns, they will come. By that time you must be away.”

Hume interpreted, and it was resolved to take the chief’s advice. It was necessary, however, to get together as many necessaries as they could carry, and while Hume busied himself with this work, the others went out beyond the laager, for, as Sirayo advised, it was better to show they were not afraid. They paced round and round, longing, yet fearing, for the night to come, and frequently the glances of Miss Anstrade and Webster stole to the tall figure of the chief, half doubtful still of his intentions, while the Gaika regarded him sullenly in the light of an interloper.

Presently the two natives stood silently regarding some object on the plain, and, attracted by their attention, Miss Anstrade asked what it was they saw.

“White men,” said Klaas.

“White men! Oh, then, we need not fly from our waggon, our home.”

Klaas shook his head.

“Bad men, they.”

“How can you tell, when they are so far that I cannot even see them?”

“They bad men,” said Klaas, shaking his head, with the Kaffir’s reluctance or incapacity to explain the reasons that led up to his firm opinion.

White men they certainly were, and presently they were met by a native. Were they friends or not? Anxiously they were watched as the men leisurely approached, and when they were close enough to be distinctly seen even by the untrained eyes of the Europeans, Miss Anstrade waved her handkerchief.

“Pass op,” shouted Klaas, “he will skit,” and at the cry four men sprang before Laura, while a tiny puff of smoke rolled up above the strangers, and a bullet whizzed unpleasantly near. That was the reply to the salute!

Hume, who had come out at the news of the strangers, flung up his rifle and fired, but the heavy Express carried wide at a long range.

“They are preparing,” said Sirayo quietly, and took a pinch of snuff, while as he held the powder to his nostrils he pointed with his assegai to where the gleam of shields showed thick among the bushes.

Hume took from Miss Anstrade her light and beautifully finished rifle. Then, throwing a handful of dust into the air to get the direction of the wind, he put up the 500 yards sight.

“If I can pick that brute off I may stop the rush,” and he nodded at one of the two whites who stood upon an ant-hill.

“Three hundred yards, I think,” said Webster, measuring the distance with his eye.

“No; the clear air takes off from the distance. Now, Klaas, see where the bullet strikes. I will shoot better beyond the fence;” and pulling away a thorn, he walked out to an ant-hill.

“They come,” cried Miss Anstrade, as the nodding plumes of the Zulus moved forward.

Hume knelt down, and resting the barrel on the conical top of the ant-mound, aimed long—so long, that Webster felt tempted to rush out and pull him in. At last came the crack.

“Missed, by heavens!” shouted Webster, and he emptied his two barrels at the dark mass which was now moving on the left in a direction parallel to the camp.

“Baas shoot too strong,” cried Klaas, and Hume put up 450 yards, and inserted another cartridge.

“Come in, man, come in; they are running.”

Sirayo moved out of the fence with the Express, after motioning Miss Anstrade to the laager.

Hume aimed again—longer than before—and the beat of the bare feet over the grass rose louder and louder, like the rush of a river in flood. At last!

“Oh, ay,” shouted Klaas, “he is dead,” and the man on the ant-hill, throwing up his arms, fell forward.

Then Hume, rising, took the Express from Sirayo, and, whipping round, dropped a warrior to each barrel, and, Webster firing rapidly too, caused a check, most of the men dropping to the grass to advance with more safety. But a dozen warriors, tempted by the chance of catching Hume outside the fence, leapt on, swallowing the ground with enormous strides, and twisting whenever the deadly rifle covered one of them. On they came in silence, their shields before them, and the short assegais that won victory for the Zulus held in readiness, and now the gleam of their eyes could be seen, and now a low moan breaks from their lips as they feel their prey.

Webster gradually slipped nearer to the fence with Klaas at his side, and as the Zulus came together in the last rush, the four barrels were emptied and the revolvers drawn.

Now Sirayo’s terrible war-cry was raised as he suddenly bounded forward; in a few strides the lean Gaika was by his side with his sheaf of assegais. There was a shock of shield striking shield, and the foremost Zulu fell with a groan, while, in the same breath almost, the tough shield of the chief met the thrust of the next man, and his red blade plunged deep beneath the arm. “Eh, Zu-tu!” he shouted, springing back from another blow, while his third assailant ate the assegai of the Gaika. Then came the sharp crack-crack of heavy navy revolvers, and the five surviving Zulus turned and ran.

Then they retired into the laager, having taught the enemy a terrible lesson, and then the chief offered snuff with his red hand to the Gaika, who took this pledge of friendship.

“You are a great warrior,” said Hume to Sirayo, “and you, Klaas, have fought like a lion.”

“It is nought,” said the Zulu. “I have killed ten men of the Nkobomokase in a feud when first I got my ring as a married man, and they were warriors every one—not men of the swamps like these, who are feeble. But it is well. They will not attack again to-night, and when the jackal calls we may go safely.”

Chapter Twenty Five.

The Escape.

When the night swiftly settled down, a ring of fires sprang up about the little camp, and the warriors seated round chanted their battle songs with many a burst of merriment. But in the camp thus hemmed in there was silence—the silence of despair. Though they had beaten their foes off the victory would not lay with them, as they had to abandon their waggon, the home of many happy days; their possessions, which became more valuable with each day’s move from civilisation; and had to face the hardships and dangers of progress through savage country on foot, themselves their own porters.

“Is there no hope of holding out?” asked Webster.

Hume glanced significantly at Miss Anstrade, who, with head averted, was listening, with evident nervousness, to the ominous chants of the Zulus.

“We must escape,” he muttered.

“At least, let us scuttle the ship before we leave her, lay a train to the powder-room, and blow her up.”

“And so tell them that we have left the camp. No; I’m afraid we must leave everything standing. I have made four large bundles, and we can take away enough to last.”

Blankets and rugs, rolled up and tied at their ends, were slung like horse-collars over their shoulders and across their breasts, rifles were picked up, bundles tied on with the ox rheims; and so prepared they waited the return of Sirayo, who had gone off scouting into the night. And as they waited their first regret at leaving gave place to a nervous anxiety to be off, for the darkness brought to them a thorough sense of the insecurity of their position. A rustle in the leaves of the huge tree rising above them like a dome made them look up apprehensively, lest some daring savage was already in lurking amid the branches, and when at last Klaas signalled the approach of Sirayo, they stepped forward eagerly to meet him.

“Is the way open, chief?” whispered Hume.

“They watch like jackals when the lion has killed,” he said gloomily. “The order has gone round.”

“What! do they fear we will attempt to escape?”

“They know. Their white chief has told them.”

“Could we not get through while they are singing?” asked Hume, looking moodily into the darkness.

“Those who sing are not those who watch; they are nearer, and will close in until they are a fence right round.”

Hume turned despondently to explain, and all tightened their grasp on their weapons, and listened for any sign of this living and deadly ring, narrowing its coil for the final crush.

“Baas, I have a plan,” said the Gaika suddenly.

“What is it?”

“Which way would the baas go?”

“Towards the river,” said Hume impatiently.

“My plan is this. I will creep out on the other side and cry out that you have escaped there. The men will then run up and you may then quickly move for the river.”

“It is a good plan,” growled Sirayo. “I also will go, and when we meet those in the way we will fight and at the sound all will rush up.”

“And you would be killed,” said Hume, after weighing it over, “and they would follow on after us. No, no, if we cannot escape together we will fight here and die together.”

“Let it be so,” said Sirayo, squatting by the fire and proceeding to eat.

The others looked at him for some time, then Miss Anstrade, with a sudden start, laid her hand on Hume’s shoulder.

“I have it,” she said breathlessly. “Those rockets; you remember you bought some at Pretoria in case we wished to signal from the camp to any lagger. Let us fire them off, and perchance these strange fiery stars will terrify the natives.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Hume, “there’s something in that,” and he dived into the waggon to emerge presently with a bundle of fireworks.

“You’ll get the full effect in this darkness,” remarked Webster dryly, “and the blacks should be greatly pleased.”

“The idea may seem to you childish,” said Hume, fixing a couple of rockets, “but try and imagine your sensations if for the first time you saw a rocket streaming into the night.”

The experiment was tried. Into the darkness rushed the rockets, exploded high up, and sent down a shower of coloured sparks, which, slowly fading as they sank, left a blacker darkness than before.

From the two Kaffirs in the camp there rung exclamations of surprise, and Sirayo strove hard to conceal his astonishment; but from beyond there was no response, either in fear or admiration.

“Fire the next just close to the ground,” suggested Webster; and they gathered behind Hume, peering into the dark, their faces coming and going out of the shadow as the light from the match fell on them. There was a flash, a long stream of light darted out, hissing, and as the light swiftly flashed, they say a row of shields, the glint of assegais: then there was a yell, as the warriors, who had been arrested in their stealthy advance by the mysterious fire, now broke and fled.

“They run!” said Sirayo loudly; “they say it is witchcraft, that you talk with the stars. Come!”

Quickly they slipped out, Hume remaining a moment to fix two other rockets with slow fuses, and then, after closing up the opening in the fence, he overtook the others. With Sirayo ahead, Webster and Hume on either side of Laura, and Klaas behind, they felt their way cautiously over the rough ground, and, as they went, there streamed out towards the sky the other two rockets. A deep murmur arose from the awestruck natives, who would, no doubt, remain fixedly gazing towards the camp for more portents; and the little party, taking advantage of their opportunity, pushed on rapidly till they reached the long slope stretching down to the thick bush on the banks of the river. Now they could advance with less caution and more speed, and their spirits rose as the hope of safety increased, for they had not time yet to realise this disaster that had overwhelmed them. At last the outlying mimosas of the thick woods arrested their progress, and, for the first time, they halted to readjust their burdens.

“Which way does your path lie?” asked Sirayo.

“Down the river, and then up into the mountains.”

“Yoh!” exclaimed the chief, astonished, “the safe path is back on the way you came, and into the white man’s country.”

“We undertook this journey for a purpose, and it is not now we will turn back. You will come with us?”

“When Sirayo sets forth on a journey, he knows beforehand whither he goes and why. You are not hunting, and your lives are dearer to you than the sight of the mountain.”

“We have heard a tale of a yellow rock that lies beyond the mountain, and we would see whether the tale is true.”

“Soh! I have heard that tale from the people we have left. They have talked much about it, and of a strange man who knows of it. Many, they say, have set out to find that rock, but never one came back.”

“Then it is there?” said Hume.

“Oh, ay; yet if it has not been found it may not exist. A tale grows easily out of nothing, and lives long on the tongues of old men. This rock has been polished by the gossips till it shines like a flame, but the man who set the tale going may have seen only the sun striking on a girl’s armlet.”

“Well, we will search for it, and with your aid.”

The chief took a pinch of snuff, as could be judged from the loud sniff. “We must cover up the spoor. Let your friend come with me so that we may lay a new spoor away from this, and do you keep on the river.”

This was done. Webster remained with Sirayo, while the others went on slowly and with many pauses till they heard the river flowing, when they waited for the dawn, wrapping themselves up in their blankets to keep off the night chill. At dawn they continued their flight for several miles along the bank of the river until they reached a place where the bed narrowed between granite banks, where a halt was cried and they waited for the other two, who came up close on noon, having smothered the trail and laid a false track up stream. Preparations were made to cross, for it was feared the Zulus might lay dogs upon the spoor, and Webster, in a marvellously short time, made a small raft out of driftwood. It was large enough to hold Laura, the rifles and goods, and the men, stripped to the waist, swam at the sides, splashing vigorously to frighten the crocodiles. Without accident they reached the further shore, landing amid a confused mass of boulders, over which they struggled to the shelter of the woods. As before, Webster and the chief remained behind, this time to watch if the enemy discovered their crossing, while the others pushed on wearily down wide game tracks into a patch of forest trees, where they rested, at last, under a wild fig-tree, whose light-coloured branches stretched wide and high. Here, with the driest of wood, a fire was made, and carefully nursed so that it should not give forth thick smoke; a tin hold-all was produced from one of the bundles, the kettle set to boil, the blankets spread on the branches, and a small leafy shelter made for Laura. This work occupied them until they were joined by the others, who reported that they had heard only the distant shouts of the Zulus, but had seen no one.

“They are content,” said Sirayo; “they have got what they wanted—your waggon, your oxen, your goods, and if they have lost a few men there are less to share the spoil.”

“But the white men who were with them will not give up the pursuit so readily.”

“Oh, ay; the white man’s hate, like his bullet, reaches far, and strikes when you are out of sight and have forgotten, but those were not of your race; they are yellow men from the coast, and maybe they, too, are in search of the flaming stone.”

“Portuguese!”

“I know not, but they chatter much, make much trouble with the women, and show their teeth when they are angry; moreover, they are idle and of little stature.”

“They are certainly Portuguese,” said Hume, with a sly glance at Laura, as he interpreted.

“You may depend,” she said, “that Lieutenant Gobo is still following us, though surely he must have some other motive than that of revenge. His persistence would be out of all proportion to the injury he has received. And you remember the offer he made to me if I disclosed the object of our mission.”

Chapter Twenty Six.

On the March.

They had passed their first night in safety, disturbed only at intervals by the snorting of buffalo, and in the morning they were seated round the fire, eating rather unpalatable “cookies” of meal baked under the coals, and drinking black coffee, steaming hot, from tin pannikins, Hume having made a good selection of stores.

Suddenly Webster planted his tin in the soft ground, threw his head back, and laughed long and hearty.

“Well?” questioned Laura, parting her lips in a smile.

“Excuse me,” said Webster helplessly; “but, upon my word, of all going-a-fishing, this is the funniest,” and he laughed again.

“I don’t see the joke,” growled Hume, as he looked through the steam of his coffee.

“Exactly; that’s what makes it so absurd. Lord, just think of it; we’ve been to great expense and enormous trouble, and have taken a year or a month—I don’t know for the life of me which—to get here, and now here we are adrift with about two weeks’ provisions.”

“I see no fun in that.”

“Man, it’s brimful of fun, if you only look at it in a proper light,” and carefully lifting up his tin, he began to sip his coffee, the light of laughter still gleaming pleasantly in his eyes.

“The most dreadful part, to my mind,” said Laura, “is the ease with which we adapt ourselves to the most sudden changes. Look at my hands; how coarse they are!”

It was now Hume’s turn to laugh. “That is an extraordinary ground for complaint,” he said, “when you have so many greater grievances at hand.”

“What greater grievance can a woman have than that of diminishing charms? I believe my face is freckling. Give me that tin plate. Thank you.”

She took the plate from Webster, polished the bottom of it, and then calmly studied her reflection.

“I am sorry I did not think of a looking-glass,” said Hume, “but I must confess I was not in a state to pick and choose carefully.”

“You did well,” said Webster heartily; “though it was a pity you forgot my razor, both for me and yourself. By-the-way, why did you burden yourself with that small crowbar?”

Hume looked a little confused. “Well,” he said, after a pause, “I thought that if we did find this—this infernal rock—the crowbar would be of use.”

“Of course,” replied Webster gravely; “of course. Let me see, what would be the value of fifty pounds of raw gold?”

“Close on 3,000 pounds.”

“Is that all. Lord love you! and has it not struck you that we could never get away with fifty pounds weight of dead metal about each of us? So that if there is a ton of gold it would not be worth to us more than the little we could carry away.”

They looked at each other blankly.

“We could hide a great quantity away, to be recovered on another journey.”

“Gentlemen, may I remind you of Mrs Glass’s advice to catch your hare before you cook him?”

“Now we’ve lost our bearings again,” said Webster, “and just, too, when we’d almost put into port and got the precious cargo on board, though by the same token the breadth of our backs is the only space at the disposal of our supercargo.”

“By Jove, you are right! we have lost our bearings,” growled Hume. “If you’ll believe me, I never thought of retrieving the gold, a work of uncommon difficulty, since we cannot possibly coax the metal from its matrix and will have to load ourselves with a worthless weight of quartz. If the rock is as rich as the specimen implies, we would have to carry away half of quartz, giving twenty-five pounds of gold to each, or only 1,500 pounds. Now, is it worth while advancing for such a little?”

“Nonsense,” said Miss Anstrade, with a frown.

“I am merely looking at the matter from a common-sense point, and Jim has just considered the humorous side. We both apparently come into the same ‘blind alley,’ and see the absurdity of running against a stone wall. We have lost everything, we have narrowly escaped with our lives, and now, even if, when not properly equipped for continuing the enterprise, we do succeed, the reward sinks to insignificant proportions—insignificant, that is, compared to the boundless wealth we originally contemplated.”

“Nonsense,” she repeated; “you originally had the very slightest faith in the existence of this rock, and the value of the reward is not the consideration you would prize. We have risked all and braved all to find it. Let us find it, and the pride of discovery after so many dangers and disappointments will be our reward. You mean to continue the search?”

“Of course,” said Hume.

“How about a canoe?” said Webster, getting up, and jobbing his hunting knife into the fig-tree.

“We don’t want a canoe, for the distance to the belt of reeds must be about nineteen miles, and we can walk that before you would finish your vessel. Afterwards we will ask you to build us a raft, which I think would be better, as there are many rocks in the channel.”

“A raft,” she said, with a smile; “then what would there be to prevent your making two or three trips to load your raft with as much of the metal as you like?”

“Good,” said Hume, laughing; “but, as you observed, we must first catch our hare, and he appears to be vanishing while we talk. Opstan—Klaas—we march.”

In half an hour they struck out of the forest into the glare of the sun, slightly tempered by the feathery mimosa, whose little fluffy buds of yellow bloom scented the heavy air. From the river banks there rose in thick masses the lustrous green foliage of the wild palmiet, rising from out of a ring of golden yellow, where the old leaves drooping had faded, and above the river, defining its winding course, rested a slight vapour, while beyond was the wide plain of rolling grass out of which had come their enemies.

They stood long with fixed gaze bent upon the wide expanse for sign, but could see nothing but herds of game, with a fine group on the opposite bank of gemsbok, whose long horns, when the game looked up, rested lightly on the striped haunches. Flocks of blue starlings, their wings glittering with a metallic lustre, flew across the river, and the birds alighted on the bucks to hunt for parasites.

“I can see no one,” said Hume, “but, nevertheless, we must proceed with caution, and before we advance into this blaze we must take the glint off our weapons. A gleaming spark, even from the point of an assegai, would be seen when the sharpest eyes could not detect us.”

“It is well,” said Sirayo, when the necessity was explained; “but of what use to dim your weapons when you have white about your clothes?”

Hume and Webster wore only shirts of grey flannel, the sleeves turned up to the elbows, leaving bare the brawny arms, bronzed almost to the colour of old oak, but their wide-brimmed hats were of a light blue, and Miss Anstrade wore a white puggaree.

“Have you some red clay, Klaas?”

The Gaika produced a small lump which he had himself used that morning to paint his face, and Hume deliberately stained all those articles of clothing which showed white.

“Why do you smear that red over your face, Klaas?”

“Make the skin soft, missy.”

“Oh, vanity of vanities, and I have seen you men smile when I have used a powder-puff. Does it really make the skin soft?”

“Oh, yes, the sun does not burn through the red clay; all mooi Kaffir girls put on red clay when the sun is hot.”

“That decides it; give me the clay!”

“Surely—” expostulated Hume.

“Give it to me; now Klaas, come.”

With an imbecile grin, Klaas followed the lady to a little stream of water, and performed the necessary toilet duties.

“Merciful heavens!” gasped Webster, when the two returned, while Hume tried gallantly to preserve a look of stoical indifference.

The beautiful white skin was covered by a hideous mask of red, out of which blazed the black eyes with a challenge that dared them to laugh at their peril.

“Forward,” said Hume, and off they went in single file; and as they went, their eyes would ever and again seek the great mountain before them, no longer blue and shadowy, but grey and rugged, with a cloud coming and going about its highest peak. They went on now among a litter of stones, now in and out among ant-hills standing above their heads, now struggling through some intervening kloof, or breasting the far side of a steep valley, whose tributary stream crept slowly on through thick rushes to the great river. In one of these valleys, where the water opened up into a shallow lagoon, a large reed buck, standing up to its belly, regarded them unmoved, and at another spot a long tree snake of vivid green whipped across their path at incredible speed and streamed up a small bush, above which its head appeared as though carved; locusts of strange form and brilliant colours flew from their path, while a brace of hawks accompanied their march for some distance. Their shadows from the right dwindled down to little round patches at their feet, then gradually lengthened out on their left, and the shrill cry of the cicada pulsating through the air beat upon their brains.

“Is it time we came to our moorings?” said Webster.

“A little further,” said Hume, looking at the mountain; and they went on over a ridge and down into a rounded valley, where a small vlei shone like a jewel. They were leaving this sheet of water on their left, when Hume suddenly halted.

“What a sight!” he whispered. “Look there!”

Out of the centre of the vlei rose the clear-cut head of a lioness, with her eyes gleaming green as emeralds. She was lying there in the shallow water for coolness.

“She cannot see us,” said Hume; “the sun is shining in her eyes. See how they glow like bits of glass.”

They stood absorbed in the spectacle; but the lioness hearing, though she could not see, began to move her head, then sat up like a dog, with the water streaming from her yellow shoulders, and her eyes still sparkling with green fire. She thrust her head forward, then, detecting some taint in the air, gave a low growl, whereupon, from out the withered grass on the further side, rose a huge lion, who, being out of the direct rays of the sun, saw the silent group, and fetched a deep growl. Thereupon, the lioness walked towards him, and, after one long stare over her shoulder, she lay on the grass and rolled over like a big dog, and the lion crouched down with his shaggy head on his outstretched paws.

With many a backward glance, the party moved on, glad that they had seen such a spectacle without being compelled to fire in defence. They rested at noon for lunch, then pushed on steadily, gradually edging along to the higher watershed, away for miles within easy view. Presently there came to them a low, tremulous murmur, which grew as they advanced, until it sounded at last like the sweep of the outermost fringe of the waves swinging to and fro over loose shells.

“It is the voice of the reeds swayed by the wind,” said Hume; “and when we reach the ridge above we shall be above this leafy sea.”

“Oh, how beautiful!” murmured Laura, a few minutes later, as they looked over a vast sea of feathered green; now shining with a silver reflection as the sun struck upon the leaves all bent in one direction by the wind; now with a ripple of dark shadows as the light tops sprang back together; now mottled all over with specks and splashes of black and white, and yellow. And all the time there rose the sweet, soft murmur and sibilant swishing, low and melancholy. As far as the eye could see stretched this moving mass, and it widened out to a dense fringe of bush on the right, beyond which, again, rose the buttresses of the mountain, springing to where, in one straight mass of frowning granite, seamed and scarred into a thousand fissures, towered the precipitous sides of the mountain itself.

Resting on their weapons, they stood gazing from the restless level of green to the grim sentinel of rock, its brow among the clouds, and its front overlooking the lowlands; and as they looked it was borne in upon them by the melancholy in the voice of the reeds and by the impassive face of the mountain that there might well be some dark mystery of Nature hidden away in this desolate place, but there could be no hope, or joy, or sound of laughter. Here was Nature of vast unpeopled places, of voiceless rivers languishing through thirsty sands, of rock-strewn uplands, and arid flats—Nature gloomy, mournful, and yet majestic too.

They sat down and, while there was still light, studied once more the well-thumbed map, with its vague outlines, and no longer simple when compared with the tossed and broken zigzag of mountain kloof and gorge.

“It would seem easier,” said Webster, “to flank the mountain from the spot where we now stand, rather than attempt to scale its front in search of that profile of a face, whose likeness may have appeared plain to your uncle, but which very likely will offer to us no resemblance.”

“I think so also,” said Laura, “for, see, when we get round the mountain through the forest here marked, we enter apparently a wide valley where we should have no difficulty in finding the ruins said to exist, and the rock bears to the north-west, distant about ten miles.”

“I should prefer to follow the old hunter’s directions,” said Hume; “but if we cannot find the face in the mountain, then we could adopt your suggestion.”

“Very well,” said Webster, “but it will be more difficult to scale that wall than to strike through the forest.”

“Perhaps, but I have a desire to stand where he stood in the place of the eye at sunrise and see the flaming signal as he saw it, or fail to see, for now I have lost faith.”

“No, my friend, you have not,” said Laura; “for then you would have no wish to follow your uncle’s wanderings. He must have been a man of rare courage to have struggled alone as he did, and as we are five, if we have but a part of his determination we must succeed. How desolate, how melancholy, the place is, with scarce a sign of life, except for that eagle soaring there.”

“Yet those reeds must shelter herds of buffalo, and sea-cow, and we know not what else.”

“We are seen,” broke in Sirayo’s deep tones.

“Seen! By whom?”

Sirayo pointed with an assegai to the nearest peak, distant about two miles, and shading their eyes, for they stood in the light, while the slopes running towards them were in shadow, they looked anxiously up.

“I see nothing,” said Laura.

“There is a man standing on a rock,” said Klaas.

“It may be a bush or stone,” muttered Webster.

“Neh, sieur, it is a man.”

“They are right,” said Hume; “look!” and he pointed to where a column of smoke rose straight into the air from a spur which ran to the forest behind them.