Ernest Glanville (continued 6)

Webster drove his fist full in the face of the foremost native, who fell, stunned, against the men behind, and in the opening made Sirayo plunged his assegai. Then the two of them struck and thrust furiously, while the Zulus in front, who could not use their hands, cried to those behind to give them room, but the latter, scenting blood, pressed on the more fiercely, till at last they forced their way and, by their impetus, fell headlong into the room. Webster and the chief sprang aside a moment, and then dashed among their foes before they could rally; and the desperate rush they made, and their great strength exerted to the utmost in each swift blow, combined with the fierce war-shout and terrible vigour of the great Zulu, produced a panic. The injured men at first ran crying out, and then the survivors fled, leaving the two alone with a few writhing figures. Then they struggled, all blood-stained and panting, through the hole to the hiding-place, and the stone was replaced.

Chapter Thirty Three.

The Chief’s Plan.

They had entered a narrow chamber, into which the light streamed through numerous cracks, in volume sufficient to bring every object into dim relief. For several minutes the little band, snatched from certain death at the last moment, stood anxiously listening for the movements of their enemies, scarcely daring to hope that their hiding-place would not be immediately detected; then, with a sigh of relief, they grasped each other’s hands and peered about them.

At one corner of the room was the old woman who had first visited them, mixing something in a stone dish; near her crouched the witch-doctor, with his head bent in a state of utter dejection, while, with his back to the wall and his eyes fixed upon the woman, leant the warrior whose prompt action had so timely released the captives. Sirayo was seated on the floor, with the Gaika endeavouring to stanch the blood that still trickled down his arm. Hume stood with his hands to his eyes, having torn off the bandage, which, in its sun-dried state, had increased his torture, his face looking haggard and white. As her eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness, dwelt upon his pathetic action, and noticed the signs of suffering in his face, Laura realised what he must have endured through the long hours of darkness. She moved to his side, and gently took his arm, the tears gathering in her eyes.

The old woman rose up, washed away the blood from the wounds of the warrior of her own race, then anointed them with the preparation on which she had been engaged, and over the wounds so treated laid a thin leaf peeled from a large bulbous root. The man turned away, and took a deep draught of water from a calabash, the gurgling noise breaking strangely on the silence.

Sirayo stood up, and thrust his arm before the old woman, and she, without a word, busied herself with it, probing it with her skinny fingers to feel if the bones were broken, and giving a satisfied grunt when she found it was sound. Moving the limb under a stream of sunlight, and bidding Klaas support it, she washed out the wound, then brought the gaping ends together, and stitched them with a dried thorn of mimosa and sinews. She spread ointment on the wound, and bound the arm up with a curious fragment cut from a long strip stretched along the wall. With the same material she made a sling for his arm, then, with a dry chuckle, dismissed him, and cast a questioning gaze at the others.

Seeing, from the expression of Hume’s face, that he was the only other needing her attention, she stepped to his side, drew his hand away, and with glittering eyes peered into his mutilated face. Then, roughly pushing Laura aside, she drew him to the light and again scrutinised him, while the others looked on in silence, subdued by the confidence in her own power of this old and withered savage.

She whispered to the crouching witch-doctor, and he submissively brought her first a calabash of water, with which she moistened the blackened and inflamed lids, then some vegetable, which she began to chew with her almost toothless gums, making awful grimaces. Then, taking the masticated pulp, she spread it over the lids, stretched on them leaves from the bulb, and with the handkerchief made a bandage.

Hume had submitted with a strange patience, and, now that the operation was over, stood with his face in the light.

Laura stole to his side again. “Do you feel any relief?” she murmured.

“Hush,” whispered Webster.

They listened, and heard a sharp exclamation outside. Those who stood near the wall peeped through the crack, and saw a Zulu standing in the centre of the vacated chamber, looking around him curiously at the signs of the struggle.

There was a fierce hiss, and the Zulu, with a cry of alarm, darted off, while the old woman opened wide her mouth in a silent laugh, and cracked her fingers. She it was who had made this noise.

They heard a noise of men leaping to the ground, and a distant shouting, gradually sinking to a confused murmur.

“They have gone,” said Sirayo. “Old mother, have you any food?”

The old dame responded not very amiably, but at an authoritative order from her own chief she disappeared through a narrow opening, hitherto—hidden in the gloom, into another apartment, while, at the prospect of food, the men brightened up. A man may soon become indifferent to danger, but peril never deadens the edge of hunger, so that many a man condemned to death has breakfasted heartily a few minutes before the hour set for his execution. The fare laid before them was not tempting, but they ate the food ravenously and felt the better for it. Laura retired into the other compartment, after somewhat timidly eyeing the old woman, and the strange crone followed her, mumbling and smiling, as well as her toothless gums would permit, at this new type of feminine beauty. The natives prepared to sleep, that appearing to them the most natural alternative, but the developed nerves of the civilised white rebelled against such indulgence at such a time. Hume leant against the wall with his arms folded, putting a few whispered questions to Webster, who restlessly moved up and down, as though pacing the bridge.

“I want to get out of this place,” he growled. “It isn’t natural—it’s cramped, dark, uncanny, with the dried skin of a snake on the wall, and in its evil-smelling corners the lurking superstition of a mysterious and bloody past. If we stay here we’ll deserve the worst kind of ill-luck.”

“How large are these ruins?” asked Hume.

“About fifty yards across, but with a multitude of passages coiling round the centre chamber, from which we escaped into this hole, which, I take it, lies between the first curve of the passage and the inner chamber.”

“Then, if the Zulus, knowing we are concealed somewhere in the pile, made a systematic search, they must find us?”

“Certainly; and knowing we were in the inner chamber they will begin their search from that point, and discover our hiding-place at once.”

“Would it not be best, then, to find out what the Zulus are about?”

“Good; anything to get out of this place. I’d better get out the way I squeezed in. Where’s the port-hole—the loose stone?”

“Stop; Jim, you must not go; you’re too clumsy for this work. Klaas!”

“Sieur!”

“We are in great danger here. To get free we need the help of a brave man, a man who can move softly, and use his eyes and ears well. You are he.”

“Eweh, Inkose, I am that man.”

“You will get out of this place, and, keeping yourself concealed, see where the Zulus are and what they do.”

“I will do it,” and he fixed the point of his assegai in a crack in the wall where the movable stone was fixed.

“Stay,” said Hume; “I have been thinking. There must be another outlet. The woman was here when we entered; I heard her voice. She must have crept in by another way after bringing us water when we were bound.”

“I never thought of that,” muttered Webster.

Klaas spoke a word to the witch-doctor, and, at the sullen reply, removed a strip of hide in a corner, slipped through a hole, and disappeared.

There was an exclamation from Laura, and she came swiftly in, holding one of the rifles. “Look,” she said, “I have found all our guns and belongings.”

Webster caught the rifle and opened the breech. “Loaded! Ah, now we’re all right.”

Hume sighed heavily.

“Do your eyes pain you still?” she asked gently.

“No; I was thinking of my rifle. If I could only see a little—a very little.”

She looked into his face, and, with a curious thrill, saw that the tears were streaming down his cheeks. She took his hand and patted it.

“I am not weeping,” he said, with a ghost of a smile, “but the treatment of the old woman makes my eyes water.”

“Thank God,” said Webster fervently; and he grasped Hume’s disengaged hand in a warm pressure.

“What do you mean?” asked Frank hoarsely, while his hand tightened in a convulsive grasp on Laura’s fingers.

“I mean that your eyesight will be restored. I saw a similar recovery on the Barracouta, and I remember the surgeon’s joy when he saw the water run from the powder-burnt eyes of the patient.”

“I cannot see yet,” muttered Hume, as he raised his fingers to the bandage.

“Nay, man, wait a little longer; you are in the hands of the old woman, and must trust the cure to her. But, believe me, Frank, you will see the sight on your rifle when the Zulus come again.”

“And the sunlight and the trees,” he whispered.

“Which,” Laura said, “would you like to see first?”

“Well,” he said, “I would like very much to see my feet, for they appear now not to belong to me, and then one look round the horizon. But the idea frightens me,” and he leant against the wall again with folded arms, while Webster paced to and fro, and Laura stood looking at the quiet figure and the three natives, dimly outlined on the floor.

Suddenly the shafts of sunlight that streamed through the lower cracks were cut off, and the black line of shadow crept steadily up the wall, until the narrow cell was faintly illumined by one broad stream only, and this they watched slowly fade away, leaving them in impenetrable gloom.

“It is very still,” muttered Hume.

“Yes,” said Webster; “it is oppressive. I suppose the night is upon us, but the light has been turned off as though it had been under command. We must not stay here; it would be folly—madness.”

There came a sound of shuffling, and the voice of Klaas, sounding hollow, called out:

“Are you there?”

“What have you seen?”

“Ah, it was so still I thought you had been swallowed up. The Zulus are in three parties; one has marched up the valley, another is by the river, and the rest stay near here, where they were encamped before.”

“Are they keeping watch over the ruins?”

“Neh, sieur, I think they fear the stones and the things in them at night.”

“Then let us get out of this,” said Webster.

“Wait awhile,” said Hume, for an animated discussion had sprung up between the natives, and he was listening intently. The strange chief was evidently emphasising some point with great earnestness, and the smack of his fingers into the open palm marked off each point.

“Does he think the Zulus are determined to find us?” asked Hume.

“Oh, ay,” said Sirayo; “yoh, I have no more snuff. They will attack to-morrow, and if they do not succeed the others will come to their help. But they do not seek us!”

“They do not seek us?”

“So the chief says. They came here in search of riches stored below,” and the thud of his assegai was heard as it struck the floor. “They find us here. It is the worse for us—but they do not seek us. So says the chief.”

“Is there such a treasure?”

“No chief would tell where the grain pit is dug in the kraal, or if it were full of grain. But the Zulus do not hunt on a cold spoor. If they come after riches, who will say they are not here?”

“But who told the Zulus of the store? They were encamped here before, and did not enter the ruins.”

Sirayo repeated this, and the chief, with an angry exclamation, poured out a volume of excited words.

“He says the secret must have been told them by one of the witch-doctors who lived here, and who alone knew of it with the chiefs.”

There was a noise in the room of someone moving. Laura cried out that something had brushed against her, and there was a scraping, followed by a rush of cold wind.

Each grasped a weapon, and deep silence ensued as they listened; then Webster struck a match, and, as the feeble light spread, they followed its path through the blackness.

“Yoh!” exclaimed Klaas, whose eyes gleamed as they rolled, “the umtagati (witch-doctor) has gone,” and he thrust his assegai through an opening in the wall opposite to the gap through which they had entered.

The match went out, and the stranger chief gave a sharp exclamation.

“What the devil is in the wind now?” demanded Webster impatiently.

“Treachery,” said Hume. “Was that the informer?” he asked in Zulu.

“Eweh,” said Sirayo fiercely; “my fingers itched to grasp him by the throat as he sat there like an evil toad through the afternoon. He is one of those who knew the secret, so says Umkomaas, the chief, and he must have given the word to the Zulus last night.”

“And now he will go straight to them, tell them where we are, and that half of us are wounded.”

“Eweh, he will do that.”

“For Heaven’s sake,” said Webster, “give me the bearings of this matter.”

Hume explained.

Webster laughed fiercely.

“We’ve missed port again, but I’m hanged if I weigh anchor now.”

“A few minutes ago you were anxious to get away from here.”

“Look here, Frank, we are after a treasure. There’s no doubt we’ve been mad to push on; but if there is a treasure here we would be mad to give it up. What do you think yourself?”

“Leave me out of the question; let Laura decide.”

Sirayo’s deep voice interposed.

“The chief Umkomaas has a plan.”

“Wait awhile, Laura. What is this plan?”

“He says it would be no good to leave this place unless you take the backward path up the mountain, for on the plain you would be seen and attacked in the open. This is a strong place, and the only place that a few men can hold. The Zulus will attack in the morning after they have eaten. You will hold them off till the sun is high. To-night one of us will leave, cross the river, and gather the people to fall on the Zulus. He cannot go, for his hurts are deep; neither a white man, for the people would not follow him; neither the Gaika, for he is not of their race. It is I who will go. Soh! That is the plan, and it is good.”

Hume interpreted, and Webster banged his clenched hand into the open palm.

“Splendid!” he cried.

“Now, Laura, the decision remains with you.”

“I am tired,” she said in low tones. “I could not climb the mountain if we retreated. Let us stay.”

Hume sighed, and laid his hand upon hers.

“What we decide to do must be done quickly,” said Sirayo.

“If you find your way to the people, Sirayo, will they not turn upon you?”

“The chief has given me the word and a sign. They will follow Sirayo,” said the chief proudly.

“Then let it be as you wish.”

“I will go,” said the chief, rising; “I must swim the river, and though the way is not far, it will be longer than if I had both arms. But when the shadow is small at your feet you will hear Sirayo’s war-cry.”

Without another word he passed from the room by the way Klaas had taken.

Chapter Thirty Four.

Sirayo’s Mission.

After climbing through the hole, Sirayo found himself in a passage so narrow that his broad shoulders jammed, and he was obliged to edge along sideways, and so dark that he had to feel his way with his toes. It bent sharply to the left, and after he had shuffled on about twenty paces he found an opening above, and mounting on projecting stones, reached the top of the wall, from which he dropped into the open passage. This coiled round and round in widening circles until at last he stood on the outermost fringe, from which he saw the light of Zulu fires about two hundred yards distant. Creeping round the wall to the opposite side, he saw, far off, the gleam of camp fires straight ahead in the direction of the Golden Rock, and then to the left, towards the river, the lights of still another encampment.

The stars shone brilliantly out of the black sky, the air was cool and refreshing. He drew a long breath, looked back at the dark pile, so much like a mound of the dead that he almost shuddered, then sprang lightly to the ground, paused awhile, listening, and silently slipped away in the direction of the river, straight towards the Zulu fires.

He heard the distant lowing of cattle complaining at being hurriedly driven in the night, the sharp yelping of dogs, the angry muttering of a war-song chanted by deep throats. They were sounds familiar to his ear. They told of war and victory, of premeditated riot in the morning, of a frightened people deserting their kraals in the night with such of their goods and their cattle as they could hastily collect, of terrified children and wailing women, of men who had lost heart. He knew them well. Often in his daring youth and stormy manhood he had burst upon some peaceful village slumbering amid waving fields of maize, and seen the scattered survivors flying to the woods or rocky retreats in a neighbouring krantz. Like a hurricane he had swept over the land, leaving desolation in his track; and the wailing of innumerable women widowed by his terrible regiment, the quavering cry of children made fatherless by him, seemed to mingle with that tremulous cry that came on the night air from beyond the river. His iron soul stirred under these blood-stained memories at the thought that now, in his grim age, the last of his band, an outcast, without authority or possessions beyond the assegai in his hand, he was hurrying to the relief of the helpless. He strode on faster over the level plain, his nostrils expanding, his tireless sinews stiffening until his gait was as clean and springy almost as in his youth, when he led his victorious warriors to the fight.

The reflection before him shone in a ring of fire, then as he rapidly advanced this split up into separate flames, and he slackened his speed to approach stealthily. There were ten fires, and in a circle about each there squatted ten warriors, some of them chattering as they ate, others flinging their war-cry across the river, telling what they would do in the morning. Little did they dream in their confidence of the dreaded enemy whose fierce eyes took note of their numbers, and who, slipping away to the right, turned his steps to the river.

He stood on the high bank, listening to its soft, mysterious murmur, trying to pierce the gloom on the further bank, and unshaken by the eye-like reflections of the brighter stars, through which Icanti, the spirit of the river, looks out upon the venturous mortal, seeking to draw him into the clutch of the waters. At a spot where the bank was low he went down to the water, felt the depth with his assegai, then gently slipping in, so that he made no sound to disturb a lurking crocodile, he waded until the cold waters mounted to his chin, when he fixed his assegai in his waistband, and struck out with his right arm. A few strokes he made, until with his toe he touched the bottom again, then struggled on to the bank, reached the top, and all wet as he was ran in the direction of a confused noise.

His way was soon barred by the thorn fences to the cultivated lands, in which he could hear some stray cattle munching at the forbidden food, but with unerring instinct he found a footpath, and passed through several kraals, deserted by everything save a few curs, which yelped at his heels before returning to forage in the abandoned huts. Then he came up with a string of old people, feebly struggling along, who stood still to look after him with bleared eyes, and next upon a band of women, swinging along under great bundles borne on their heads. At the sight of this glistening figure at their side, that had come without warning, and of his head-ring, sign of the dreaded Zulu, they threw down their bundles and ran shrieking away, while at the noise young children ahead cried out shrilly, communicating the alarm to the men who were in advance driving the cattle.

The men called to each other, and the rush of their feet could be heard.

“What is it?” they shouted.

“We know not,” said a boy’s clear voice; “but our mothers cried that the Zulus were upon us. Give me an assegai. I will fight, too.”

“Run, my child, run!” called out a woman’s voice.

“Stand where you are, and I will do you no harm;” and as the deep voice rolled above the noise there was immediate silence. “Soh! Let your chief Induna come forward; I have a message.”

“Do not heed him,” cried the woman; “he will slay you.”

“There is but one,” cried another, “kill him; nay, let us tear him to pieces.”

“Stop, or by the bones of Chaka I will beat you till you cry for mercy. Let the boy who spoke advance. Come.”

“My son, my son, do not heed.”

“Nay, I will go, since I am chief;” and there came to the great Zulu a stripling, with his eyes gleaming, and the hand that held the assegai thrown back. “You speak to us as though we were dogs! Who are you?”

Sirayo’s eyes rested on the boy, then glanced around.

“Tell your men to keep back. I hear them stealing through the grass like snakes.”

The boy turned, and called to the men to keep back.

“Good! You will be a chief some day.”

“I am a chief now,” said the boy proudly, “since my father is killed.”

A strange light leapt from Sirayo’s eyes. “Take that, O chief, and tell me what it is!” and he held out something, after sticking the point of his assegai in the ground.

The boy looked at the gigantic figure before him, then snatched the thing, and held it close to his eyes.

“It is the war-plume of my father—Umkomaas.”

“Yebo. He lives; but he is in danger, and if you would save him you must obey me. Say that to the people.”

The boy turned instantly and shouted the message, whereupon the women came forward, while the men talked.

“How do we know this is true?” asked an old man suspiciously.

“You know by the plume, by the word that your chief lies in the old place of stones, by the wound I received in his defence, by the sign of the snakeskin round my arm. I have said enough. Let those who obey the chief Umkomaas stand on this side.”

Sirayo, beginning suavely, ended by ringing out in a stern command, and, quelled by the authority in his tone, a few of the young men ranged up behind him.

“What means this, son of Umkomaas? are your warriors quicker to run than to obey?”

There was a threatening murmur from the dark mass of men who had gathered opposite to Sirayo and his small party.

“Who are you that we should obey?”

“Who am I? Well do you ask, for never yet have you seen a warrior like me. I am he who was the first war chief of the Zulus of the south. I have led, I have fought, I have conquered since I was a boy like this son of Umkomaas: I am Sirayo!”

They fell back before this name, and the women fled again; for the fame of the great chief, spreading from tribe to tribe, had entered their remote valley.

“Yes, I am Sirayo, and there never was a warrior yet who would not have left all to follow him at his command. You have heard; now, without more words, will you obey?”

“Bayate!” they cried, and thundered on their shields—all but a few Indunas, who would feign probe their suspicions by prolonged discussion.

“It is well. Let there be no more thought of flight. Your women will return to their kraals. The men will take their weapons and meet in the great kraal. Every man will take his place in his own regiment, and the Indunas will take their proper positions. Advance!”

Under the spell of this born leader the courage of the people returned; the men poured on in one direction, talking excitedly, and Sirayo followed with the young chief by his side, whose head was thrown back, while his eyes continually turned upon his formidable companion.

In a vast semicircle within the great kraal the men drew up in something like order, regiment on regiment, to the number of two thousand, each regiment with shields differing in colour from those carried by the others.

Sirayo marched through the lines, towering a head above them, and the rows of gleaming eyes followed him, trying in the dark to decipher the features of their new leader. It was an impressive scene—this large body of men, silent and waiting, drawn up under the stars within the wide circle of huts.

Sirayo smiled grimly on returning to the head of the column, after judging the number, to think that so large a body should dream of flying before the small band of Zulus.

“Your enemies are few,” he said; “you are many. Why did you think of flight?”

“They had killed our fetich, and the witch-doctors said we were doomed,” came the response.

“They lied; they were in league with the enemy. Which of the regiments suffered most in the fight?”

“We of the Rock,” said a young Induna proudly; “nearly half of our brothers lie beyond, and they fell facing the foe. I, Inyame, say it.”

“The Regiment of the Rock will draw up on my right.”

There was a movement, and from the mass, with active steps, a body of about three hundred drew up. Sirayo recognised the red and white shields of the men who had first sided with him.

“The regiment of tried fighting men will now draw up on my left.”

“It is the Regiment of the Snake,” said a deep voice, and at the command a body of about five hundred fine warriors marched to the left, giving a booming shout as they fell into columns.

“Who leads the Regiment of the Snake?”

“I, Chanda.”

“Chanda, listen! You will at once lead your men down the river towards the place of stones. On the further bank you will see the fires of a band of Zulus. Camp over against them, singing your war-song. In the morning, when they retire, you will cross the river and attack them in the rear.”

“Will they retire?”

“I have said it. Heed my words. When they retreat you must cross and follow. Depart, and make much noise.”

Chanda gave his orders, and the regiment, accompanied by a shrill whistling from those who remained, filed out of the gates and went chanting into the night, and as they sang they struck the hafts of their assegais against their shields.

“Chanda has done well. Let the others obey as promptly. I want, now, picked men from the regiments in the centre to make good the Regiment of the Rock. Inyami, select your men.”

The young Induna advanced and touched, with his assegai, the men he wanted, ticking them off on his fingers, until two hundred stood out and fell in with the Regiment of the Rock.

“Son of Umkomaas, little chief with the big heart, I place you over the men who remain in the centre. You will sleep here, but when the sun is up you will march quickly to the old stones where your father lies.”

“Shall I not go at once, O chief?”

“Nay, do as I say. Inyami, listen. The largest body of Zulus lie at the place of the shining Rock. Is it not so?”

“It is so, great chief.”

“You will lead on to the nearest drift. We will cross the river to-night with your regiment, and draw up before the Zulus. There must be no noise. We steal like panthers on the prey—silent and hungry. If any man speaks so much as one word it will be his last. Do you heed?”

“Eweh, O chief!”

“Come, then;” and placing himself beside Inyami, he led the regiment towards the river. The war-song of Chanda’s regiment on the march came plainly on the wind, and in response they heard the deep booming of the Zulu chant. The enemy recognised that some movement was afoot, though in their confidence they never expected that their defeated foes would dare to attack them.

Chapter Thirty Five.

At Bay!

When Sirayo left, Webster, chafing at the narrow limits of the stifling den, knocked away the loose stone and wriggled through into the inner chamber, where they had passed the previous night in a stupor of sodden sleep. The Gaika presently glided to his side, and Laura soon struggled out to drink in the fresher air. The two men went along the passage, still bearing its ghastly burdens.

She leant against the rough wall, with her white face to the stars, weary in body and mind, worn out by the unequal struggle against the accumulating horrors and dangers, in which there was no wild dash of romance. She was beaten. Her courage had lost its resolution; her pride had been burnt out.

“Where have you gone?” asked Hume, with a touch of reproach in his tones.

She shuddered, but did not move or speak.

“It is very dark,” he muttered, as he groped about with his hands until he came upon the opening, when he thrust his head through, moving it helplessly from side to side.

“Don’t!” she gasped; “you frighten me.”

“I am sorry,” he said.

“For heaven’s sake!” whispered Webster as he hurried up, “keep quiet, man. Someone has entered, and is coming along the passage.”

With a low cry, Laura placed her hands before her face.

“I will protect you!” murmured Webster passionately, and Hume silently withdrew his head, a feeling of fierce despair at his heart.

He stood in the narrow den, hoping in his bitterness that death would free him from his torture, when the old woman suddenly clicked with her tongue angrily, then muttered to the wounded chief. He rose up, and she supported him to the hole, calling on the Gaika to help him through. She followed, and said a few words to Klaas, who, with a stifled exclamation, began tapping the sanded floor with the butt of his assegai.

“What are you doing?” demanded Webster.

“Wait, sieur;” and the tapping of the assegai continued. “This is the place;” and Klaas with his naked foot pushed the sand away, leaving bare a flat stone in the centre of the room. With the point of his assegai he prised up the stone and then started back, for there was a yawning pit disclosed, out of which came a rush of damp and sickly air.

“Where does that lead?” asked Webster.

“I don’t know, sieur. The old woman will say.”

She spoke rapidly, pointing with skinny forefinger at the pit, and turning her gleaming eyes from face to face.

“She says we must go down,” said Klaas; “but I am afraid.”

“Hark!” said Laura; “I hear voices.”

The old woman drew Umkomaas to the hole, then, seizing Laura by the arm, pulled her violently forward.

“What the deuce does the old witch mean?” growled Webster impatiently.

“I think,” said Klaas, “she say this is the last place of hiding; and the Amazulus will find us if we stay here.”

“Go down, then.”

“Neh, sieur. It is too dark.”

“It is no blacker than a ship’s hold. Stand away;” and, dropping his feet through, Webster lowered himself till he touched ground, when immediately Umkomaas almost fell on top of him, and he was obliged to catch the helpless chief and stagger back with him.

Before she could utter a word of protest, Laura was seized by wiry arms and dropped into the pit, and the Gaika, with a grunt of anger at such treatment of his mistress, followed her. Then the old woman quickly slid the stone over the opening, rapidly spread the sand above, and stood listening.

Hume had heard the exclamations, the excited whispers, and a muffled cry from Webster calling his name, and in the silence which suddenly cut short this commotion he read some fresh calamity, and stood for a moment trembling violently. Then he groped once more to the hole, and, thrusting his head through, called softly:

“Laura!”

No answer came to the murmur.

“Webster!” he cried, a little louder. “Jim! are you there?”

“Ssh! be still,” came a suppressed cry in the native tongue.

“I have been still too long—where are you?”

“Listen. The men know that hiding-place. I heard two come and retreat. They will return in greater numbers. Be not afraid for your people; they are safe with Umkomaas, my chief, under the ground here;” and she stamped with her feet.

“They are safe,” he muttered—“safe, you say? Why did they leave me?”

“You must stay there and tell the Amazulus that your people have fled.”

“And then?”

“They will kill you. Your strength has gone; it is well.”

“Good heavens!” he gasped in horror; “did they know that? No, no, no! It is a lie. They would not leave me. Jim!”

“Ssh!” she hissed, then swiftly climbed the wild vine and crouched flat on the wall.

“My God!” he cried, “my God! and is this the end, to be left in a hole, blind, helpless, and alone? And I lost my sight for them! would have lost my life to save them”—he paused—“ay,” he continued softly, “may do so yet.” There was the ring of metal against stones, and he drew in his head instinctively and grasped his rifle. “Good!” he muttered fiercely; “I hope there are many, so that even a blind man may strike home.”

He heard the soft sound of men brushing against the stones, heard their exclamations of fury as they kicked against the bodies of dead Zulus, and knew they had reached the inner chamber.

“Is this the place?” said one harshly, in Portuguese.

“This is the place, Captain,” answered a deep voice that seemed familiar to Hume.

“And where are those robbers hidden?”

“In the wall there. See! there is the gap by which they entered.”

“Hark ye,” said the first man, raising his voice, and speaking in English, “you who are hidden in there. I will lay a train of powder and blow the walls in upon you if you so much as lift a finger upon us. Do you hear?”

“I hear,” said Hume sternly; “and I warn you also that I will shoot you like the dog you are if you attempt to injure one of us.”

There was a laugh, and a third man, whom Hume judged to be Lieutenant Gobo, said: “Would it not be better to blow them in now, Captain?”

“What! and kill the girl you rave about?” said the Captain in Portuguese. “We’ll get her first—moreover, we have no time to waste; the people across the river may yet show fight. Hark to their singing! Blow them up when we have finished this job.”

The deep chant of Chanda’s regiment rolled from beyond.

“Now,” said the man who had been addressed as Captain, “let us begin. Ferrara, which is the entrance to this hidden treasure? It must be in the centre. Where is that witch-doctor—ah, you thief of night, come here! Now, Ferrara, tell him to point out the place.”

As the witch-doctor stepped forward, a loud hiss arrested his steps.

“What in the devil’s name was that?”

“Look!” said Gobo, trembling; “there is something moving on the wall. Is it a snake?”

“Serpent or not, here goes.” A report rang out, followed by a wild cry, the rustling of leaves, and the fall of a heavy body.

“Carrambo! What have we here? A woman—a witch. Gobo, here is your serpent;” and the Captain laughed. “Do you hear that, you inside? If you do not keep quiet you will be served in the same way.”

The old woman, with a last effort, called to Hume: “Keep watch; they look for the secret place of hiding.”

“Be silent!” cried the Captain; “and, Ferrara, show us this place of treasure, if you have not lied.”

“I do not lie,” replied a deep voice, “and you have done wrong to shoot that woman. She has given warning of our search.”

“And what then? Are we afraid of a parcel of sick men? By the saints! I will give them this old witch for company.”

“Stay; here is the place. Yes—see the crack! Your knife, Captain, to force it open.”

Hume heard the scrape of the knife, the thud of the stone as it fell back.

“Carrambo!” exclaimed the Captain. “What a hole of night! Who goes down first? I will lead. A light—give me a light.”

There was a light, a flash of red flame from the hole in the wall, as Hume, who had listened, with nerves all quivering, fired blindly to save his friends.

“Bayate!” gasped the old woman. “It is well done, O Mole.”

There was a sound of rushing feet, followed by a storm of curses from the passage, where the men had rushed for shelter. Hume drew his revolver, and, with his arm out of the hole, fired in the direction of the voices.

“The powder!” roared the Captain, hoarse with fury. “Give me the powder, and I will blow in the wall on their heads.”

“Nay!” said Ferrara; “the falling stones may crush in the secret chamber below. Let two of us fire into the hole while the other descends.”

“No, the powder! That bullet grazed my head. I will lay it against the wall. Good! here is a projecting stone. Get back, all of you, to the inner curve.”

Hume, listening, heard the men retreat.

“Listen in there! In one minute you will be crushed. I have laid the train”—there was a scratch—“I have fired it—good-bye!”

Hume stood a moment; then felt wildly for a hole, struggled through, and as he fell free of the wall he heard the spluttering of the powder. The next instant he was hurled aside, and in his ears there roared the heavy blast of the explosion, coupled with the hollow rumble of falling stones, while the floor beneath him shook and trembled to the shock. He remained for a time on his face motionless, almost stunned by the noise of the explosion and by the force with which he was flung aside. Then, as his senses returned, he heard a murmur of voices as though afar off—then more clearly a man speaking:

“By the saints! that is well done. They have had decent burial, Captain.”

“Ay, too good; now we can get to work at our ease. But what a dust! First let it settle; it chokes me.”

Hume rallied his senses, and softly rolled over, feeling for his rifle, which he had dropped. Then he put his hand to his eyes, to feel that the bandage had been torn away by the rush, of air. With his fingers he pushed back the lids, which by long pressure remained as though gummed down. With his eyes blinking at the falling dust, he sat in hopeless darkness; then a sharp cry escaped his lips, for it seemed to him that the darkness was not so black. He shut his eyes tightly, then opened them wide, and before him there was a yellow blur. A brilliant spark flashed through it; then it changed to a deep violet, and from his trembling lips there leapt a cry, for he saw the looming dark walls, and above caught the sparkle of innumerable stars.

“I can see!” he cried. “My God! I can see!”

“Hark! It is one of them crying out.”

“It was a fearful voice,” whispered Gobo. “The men say this place is possessed.”

Hume saw the sheen of something bright, and, with his heart beating, softly drew his rifle to him. He shut his eyes, and opened them with a joy he could scarce restrain; then, gently cocking the hammer, he rose to his feet.

“Curse this dust!” growled the Captain; “one can neither see nor hear. But we cannot remain here like a lot of children frightened by a sound. Come.”

“Stop!” shouted Hume sternly. “I can see you—ay, I can see you well; and if a man moves I will shoot him.”

“If you can see in this light, you have good eyes, my friend,” said the Captain, with a nervous laugh. “But who in the devil’s name are you?”

“Stand aside, Captain,” whispered Gobo.

“Stand where you are,” said Hume fiercely. “Now give an account of yourselves. You have hunted us, keeping yourselves, like the shabbiest curs, well out of danger; and now, when you have brought us to bay, you have taken the last damnable measure of cowardice against us—thinking, too, there was a lady here. I see that third man move—by heavens! I will shoot.”

“Be calm, my friend,” said the Captain in his hoarse voice; “we do not wish to harm you. Now, can’t you make some agreement with us? You are perhaps alone?”

“Thanks to you,” said Hume grimly.

“Alone—one man against two hundred. What can you do? Just think: you may kill one of us; but then you are yourself killed, or perhaps wounded and given over as a plaything to the Zulus, who are like tigers because of their friends who died.”

“Well, what do you propose?” said Hume, listening to the louder cry of Chanda’s regiment, and to a confused murmur that quivered through the fresh morning air.

“You know why we are here, as we know why you have come. We have been racing against each other for a hidden treasure, and you would not accept the warnings we gave you to desist. There are three of us; let us sink all differences, and do you come in, taking fourth share.”

“And my friends?”

“Your friends? It was the fortune of war that—”

“War do you call it? The better name would be murder.”

“We need not split hairs,” said the Captain impatiently. “But why speak of your friends, since they are dead?”

“You lie! they live. The treasure is not for you. They have already secured it, and are in safety with the people beyond the river. Fools! while you slept they marched away, and Sirayo is now leading an army against your men.”

“You lie yourself, dog of an Englishman!” cried the Captain.

“Listen!”

The distant murmur increased to a hoarse roar, threatening, and nearer rose the shouts of Zulus calling to each other.

Behind the three men in the passage were some Zulus, who had remained silent; but now they broke out in fierce excitement, all speaking together.

“What do they say?” shouted the Captain shrilly.

“They say there is a fight where the greatest number of our men are, and the enemy have gathered also by the river, where our second force is stationed. This man speaks truly. The people would not fight unless they had a fresh leader, and who can that leader be but Sirayo? But as for the treasure, those feeble people could not have carried it away.”

“Carrambo!” said Gobo, “I recognise this fellow now.”

“We met before at Madeira,” said Hume grimly; and as the light increased the scowling faces of the three men stood out.

“Mother of God! what a sight! His eyes are red and look out from a black mask.”

“He is like a devil,” muttered Gobo; and, with his gun at his hip, he pressed the trigger.

“Baleka!” cried a warrior, pushing in. “Sirayo eats our men up by the lone rock, and men are swarming across the river for this place.”

“To the mountain!” cried Gobo, turning to fly.

“Not I!” cried the Captain furiously.

“Nor I!” said Ferrara.

And the two dashed at Hume.

He fired and the Captain fell; but Ferrara gripped him by the throat, and the two reeled about in a fierce struggle, and in their ears, though without conveying much meaning, there came the sound of shouting beyond the walls. As they stood for a spell, gasping for breath to renew the struggle, they heard the Zulus calling to each other to fly, and Ferrara by a terrific effort hurled Hume away, sent him staggering, to fall heavily over the heap of fallen stones, then himself vanished into the underground passage, a moment before the little son of Umkomaas dashed into the ruined chamber at the head of his victorious warriors.

Chapter Thirty Six.

The Underground Chamber.

Sirayo’s leadership had prevailed. He attacked the main body of the enemy before sunrise, and the young warriors of the Rock, fired by his ferocious courage, had withstood the desperate rush of the Zulus until Chanda’s regiment came up on the trail of the second detachment, when the enemy, terribly thinned, took the path to the mountain wisely left open for them.

Before the fight Sirayo had taken the long throwing assegai from Inyami and snapped the haft across his knee within three feet of the blade.

“Do ye likewise,” he said to the regiment, “and you will fight the Zulus hand-to-hand with their own weapons, for it is by their short assegais they have conquered.”

The young warriors obeyed, and for the first time they went into a fight without hurling their spears.

After the great fight, which left the ground about a lonely rock of strange shape strewn with dead and dying, the women flocked to the scene, to attend to the wounded, and Sirayo, with the remnant of his band, marched to the ruins. As they neared the place, the men broke out with their song of victory—a deep-throated roar tossed to the mountain—and the warriors about the ruins formed up to meet them, whistling shrilly and drumming on their shields, while the boy-chief stood before the ranks, his black eyes glittering.

“Bayate!” they thundered. “Great is Sirayo, the big black bull, the swooping eagle!”

The air vibrated to their shouts, and the warriors of the Rock, with the marks of battle on them, gave an answering shout, and proclaimed Sirayo as their chief.

If the Zulu had been a younger man, he would perhaps have seized the opportunity and grasped the proffered honour, which would have meant instant death to the little chief, and a fierce attack upon any suspected of supporting him.

As it was, the chief took a pinch of snuff, while his bloodshot eyes glared fiercely at the son of Umkomaas, standing within reach of his red and dripping assegai.

“Do you hear, little chief?” he said in his deep tones.

“I hear, and I know. Strike if you will.”

Sirayo took from his head the broken eagle plume, and fixed it on the head of the child.

“Behold your chief!” he cried, lifting his assegai and letting his dark glance sweep along the ranks of excited men. “He is a babe, but he has the heart of a lion. Chief, see your men; they fought like my own Zulus of the far south. Take thought that your heart never turns black towards them.”

Then Sirayo turned into the ruins, and found Hume wetting with his dripping handkerchief the lips of the old woman, who lay bleeding slowly from a wound in the breast. The chief looked at the fallen stones and at the prone body of the Portuguese Captain.

“What evil has happened?” he asked.

“I heard them shout your name, chief,” said Hume, keeping his face bent over the woman; “you have triumphed?”

“Yebo! it was well done, and it was a great fight. Your eyes are no longer dark; that is better than my victory. Ay, it is good! Where are the others?”

“Down there;” and he pointed at the hole.

“Did they go before the fight, and leave you alone?”

“I could not see, and they were hurried. They forgot me.”

“Yoh! And do they hide there like jackals? It was not a good thing to leave a blind man.”

“They did it without thought I fear there is something dark thereunder, chief, for a strange man, I think, has gone down. I would have followed, but my head was dizzy from a fall; and then I heard this old woman crying feebly for water, and I went out to the spring. We must go down.”

Sirayo called for men, and when a few came in with wild looks he bid them carry the old woman to the spring and tend to her. The men exclaimed, when they saw Hume, and clapped their hands to their mouths, but Sirayo sternly bid them go.

“They do not like my face,” said Hume, with a bitter smile.

“They are not women, that they should be terrified at a scar received in battle.”

“Then my face would frighten a woman;” and he shuddered. “Will you go first, chief?”

A faint smile flickered for a second about the grim mouth of the warrior; then he lowered himself into the hole. “We shall need a light,” he said, and split the haft of an assegai. They found themselves in a narrow passage curiously arched and ribbed, which coiled round and widened as they advanced, turning always to the left. The walls were polished, as if by constant friction, and where the ribs met overhead was a well-defined ridge, or backbone, regularly articulated. It was very still, the stagnant air heavy with a sickly odour, and twice they paused to struggle against a feeling of dizziness; but a slight current of air, coming with a cooling touch, freshened them, so they were able to struggle on, through a short length where the passage suddenly narrowed, to a large wedge-shaped chamber.

They stood peering by the flickering and waning light at some dim forms stretched upon the floor, at two spots of light at the far end through which the air came, at a double row of shining objects on either side the narrow end of the wedge, and at an object in the centre from which there came a wreath of smoke, spreading the odour that had so disturbed them.

As Hume hesitated, with a sharp fear at his heart, one of the figures moved, then rose up, swaying to the side for support.

“Thank God!” he cried; and at the sound of the voice the figure started back, moved his head from side to side as though he tried in vain to pierce the gloom behind the spark of fire, and then cried hoarsely:

“Quien es?”

“Ah, it is you! Surrender; we are armed.”

The man made no answer; but, stooping, he appeared to grope among the prostrate forms; then with a fierce growl of satisfaction lifted one, and by the light that filtered through the two openings they caught the sheen of steel in his hand; they saw, too, the face of Laura, white and deathlike.

“I will not surrender!” he said slowly; “and if I die she dies also.”

“Don’t!” cried Hume hoarsely. “Give her to me, for Heaven’s sake!”

“Not I,” he growled, and placed her face in the stream of light, so that Hume could see the closed eyes and white cheeks.

Hume trembled and went faint with terror. “For mercy’s sake, take her out of this, into the fresh air.”

“And what of me?”

“Ask what you like; but be quick, or it will be worse for you—I swear it!”

“Do not threaten,” said the other darkly; “I want my life!”

“Yes—yes.”

“My liberty, and safe passage from the valley.”

“Ay, I will see you out myself; but, for God’s sake, be quick!”

“And more—a full half-share of any treasure there may be here. I have lived years for it, and less I will not take.”

“I know nothing of any treasure; but if there is any, halt is yours—the whole if you will hasten.”

“Nay, half will do; I would not try you with the loss of the whole. How do I know you can dispose of it?”

Hume swore under his breath, and made a step forward.

“Stop!” cried the other, with so menacing a voice that Hume reeled back. “You are wasting time now, and I feel her heart beats more slowly. What claim have you to give half the treasure away?”

“I—I am captain of this party.”

“Ay, but you are not the chief of the people here.”

“No,” said Hume quickly; “but here he is. Sirayo!” And he spoke hurriedly to the chief.

“Half is his,” said Sirayo.

“Good!” said the man, this time in Zulu. “Swear it. I think I will trust you—since I have watched you for many nights—had your lives in my power, but spared you.”

“Then bring her out!”

“Take her yourself.”

And the next minute Hume was staggering blindly, fiercely through the dark and tortuous passage, with his precious burden.

Then the stranger overturned the burning vessel in the middle of the room, and stamped on the smouldering herbs; next he lifted Webster’s heavy form, to stagger off with it; while Sirayo did the same for Klaas, both returning to carry the chief, Umkomaas. They were all taken to the spring, shelters of rushes built over them, and a medicine man called to attend them. They had been all stupefied by the fumes of burning herbs, by the same fumes which, stealing through the cracks in the floor, had overcome them on their first night in the ruins; and the witch-doctor, after much waste of time over muttered incantations, brought them slowly to their senses, though they were too languid to move.

When Hume found that they had shaken off the stupor in which they were locked, he went down to the spring and stooped to quench his burning thirst; but he paused as he knelt, appalled by the reflection he saw in the clear pool—the reflection of a terrible face: the eyes red, inflamed, without eyelashes; the forehead blackened, as though covered by a mask. In his anxiety for Laura, in his joy at her recovery, he had forgotten about his injury; and now this sudden revelation filled him with horror. He turned away from the pool with a feeling of repulsion for himself, and went off to the now deserted ruins, where he faced this new trouble, and all that it meant to him of ruined hopes. With these awful eyes of his he could not face her—no, nor mingle among his fellows. He remembered how the Portuguese had exclaimed at seeing his face; and he writhed at the thought that men would start at sight of him, and women would turn shuddering away. A great bitterness filled his heart, and when he thought of Webster, he ground his teeth at the cursed chance which left him maimed, while leaving his friend free. A feeling of resentment towards Laura sprang up also, because she had feared him even in the dark.

“Would to Heaven,” he muttered savagely, “I had been killed!”

And he sat staring blankly at the wall before him, and suddenly there came before him the calm face of Mr Dixon, the engineer, going to his death, cooped up in the bowels of the Swift, and the stern features of Captain Pardoe. Then he rose with a faint smile about his lips and went to the inner chamber, where he found Ferrara preparing a torch, while Sirayo sat near, as calm and indifferent as though he had passed an uneventful day.

“Are your mends better?” asked Ferrara.

“Yes,” was the curt reply. “What do you hope to find here?”

“That which has brought you to this valley, and led us upon your tracks, and sent many of us on the longest journey of all—the love of gain.”

“And what good, after all?”

“Very little good to you, my friend; but for me—I am not too old to have one last fling after having lived the life of a savage. Now let us find and share.”

He lit the torch and held it close to the arched roof, and the flaming light was reflected on a double row of shining objects. His eyes glittered as he examined them closely.

“Ah,” he muttered, “the man did not lie, then. These are the teeth of gold.”

“Teeth,” said Hume, throwing off his moody air—“teeth of what?”

“Why, of this serpent. Have you not been through the coils?—and this place is the head. The temple above was reared on the coils of a serpent, and the simple people of the valley have kept alive the old worship in some of its forms. These two points of light at the narrow end are the nostrils. But you knew of this.”

“Nothing. We came in search of the Golden Rock.”

“Yes; I have seen that wondrous thing, but it was not to be carried away bodily, while these treasures may.”

And with a strong tug he wrenched one of the curved teeth from its socket, and as it lay in the broad palm, the three heads bent over to examine it—a finely-wrought piece of pure metal, two inches in length, and about a quarter of a pound in weight. There were altogether forty-eight of these teeth, and in an hour they had all been wrenched from the sockets which had retained them in glittering rows for many centuries.

“My knowledge of values is rather musty. What would you judge the worth of these?”

“About a thousand,” said Hume, after a mental calculation.

“Is that all? Then my share will not purchase a month’s enjoyment. You gave me half for the life of that girl, yet I had you all at my mercy, and spared you. Come, comrade, what say you to my taking the whole? Remember, you offered me all.”

Hume divided the yellow pile into two parts, and emptied one half into Sirayo’s skin bag.

“There! that is your share,” he said sternly, and Ferrara, muttering to himself, stored the precious burden about his person.

Hume looked curiously at the tall dark man.

“Who are you?” he asked, “and why have you followed us so closely?”

“Who am I? Ho, ho! I scarcely know. Ask the Zulus; they will tell you I am the great Witch-Doctor, whose coming and going no man knows. Ask the white traders—they will tell you I am the Hermit of the River. Ask the Portuguese—they will say I am Alfonse Ferrara, the lieutenant who killed his captain at Delagoa Bay. I am all these, and for twenty years I have lived on the banks of the river, alone—alone with the running water, the brooding trees, and the things that move in the night.”

“The animals?” whispered Hume, awed by the light which smouldered in the dark eyes opposite him.

“The animals—phaugh! they shrink at my coming. No, no, the soft, silent, gliding things that lurk in the shadows; that watch me looking over their shoulders, or peeping from the shelter of rocks, or from out the dark pool. I want to get away from them;” and he glared round the cavern, shuddering.

Hume shuddered too at the glimpse of madness in Ferrara’s gesture.

“But why did you dog us?”

“Because I knew what you were after, and I wanted it for myself. Years ago I knew of the secret of this valley. It was I who set your uncle upon the quest, in the hope I might afterwards rob him. I have haunted this place, but in vain, for they kept too close a watch. It was necessary to have help, and before you came, I sent a message to a Portuguese trader. You came when my plans were ready, and if it had not been that I mistrusted my countrymen, you would have been killed while you slept; but if they had played me false, I would have sought your help.”

“You appeared to us as a savage,” said Hume, repressing a feeling of abhorrence.

“Yes,” replied Ferrara with a mysterious air, and dropping his voice. “You see, I have donned this clothing to deceive them—the voiceless people who are searching for me. If they found me”—and he looked cautiously round—“they would drag me back to the river.”

After another glance round the chamber, Hume and Sirayo withdrew, leaving Ferrara alone, and Hume, surrendering himself again to gloomy thoughts of his maimed face, sat on the outer coping of the wall, with his face resting on his hand.

Long he sat there thinking whether he, too, would not do well to lead the life of a hermit, rather than be an object of disgust to his friends, when he heard a hoarse cry behind him, and, turning, saw Ferrara standing with his head turned, looking back along the passage.

The strange being had stripped himself of his clothes. His huge form stood naked as that of a savage, his breast was heaving, the muscles of his arms rigid, and when he turned his face it was contorted with the passion of terror and rage.

“What in Heaven’s name is it now?” cried Hume, springing to his feet.

Ferrara fixed his eyes on Hume; his lips moved, but without sound, and he seized his throat savagely. Then with a wild cry in Zulu of “They come! they come!” he sprang over the wall and fled towards the mountain, while Hume faced the passage, expecting he knew not what. Presently he entered cautiously, until he came once again to the underground coil without meeting anyone; but while he stood peering down into the dark pit, he realised that Ferrara had in the stillness of that gloomy retreat fallen a victim to his dark fancies of the “voiceless people.”

Chapter Thirty Seven.

The Last of the Rock.

Laura recovered from her prostration filled with an intense longing to get away from the savage surroundings, which had too surely left their mark upon her spirits. The whole enterprise had lost for her its zest, and under the reaction which had set in she wondered how she could have entered upon the expedition.

“Let us go,” she said to Webster. “Take me away from this. It fills me with disgust.”

“I do not wonder,” he said gloomily, running his eyes over her frayed dress. “You look ill; won’t you rest?”

“It is not rest, but change—change from this fearful, this degrading life—that I need.”

“Degrading?”

“Yes, degrading!” she replied passionately. “Where is Mr Hume?”

“I do not know,” he said.

“Find him, then.”

He rose slowly, looked at her a moment dully, then heavily moved off towards the ruins, where after a long search he found Hume seated with his hands over his eyes. He waited for some time patiently, but as Frank showed no signs of his presence he touched him on the shoulder.

“Miss Anstrade asks for you. She wishes to return.”

There was no reply.

“You must go back with her. She is weary of this life—sick of it and of me. I will remain here for a time. You hear me, don’t you, Frank? besides, it is necessary your eyes should be looked to. Of course,” he went on patiently, “I understand how you feel. I have seen that you have shunned me, but God knows, my lad, I would not have left you alone in the ruins if I could have helped it Frank, I tried to get back to you, but I was overcome by those cursed fumes. Do you believe it, Frank?”

“Ay, I believe it, Jim.”

“Ah!” he said with a sigh of relief. “Now will you take her back, my lad? Take her away out of this, and when you are once again back among your fellows, forget that ever I had the impudence to make a pact about her. Forget it, and win her.”

Hume withdrew his hand from his eyes, and, rising slowly, faced his friend, his worn face pale, his eyes burning from out that blackened mask.

“My God!” said Webster, drawing back. “But you can see,” he muttered.

“I can see—yes,” said Hume, in hollow tones. “See how you shrink from me. Do you ask me now to take her back?”

Webster said nothing, but a groan shook his frame, and he caught his friend’s hand and held it.

“You don’t speak?”

“The black will fade out. It is only powder.”

“Yes, and my eyebrows will grow,” he said with a bitter laugh, “and the red will disappear from my eyes; but before that she would have learnt to dread my presence. Do you still ask me to take her?”

“No, lad; you must not see her until you have recovered.”

“Then, you must take her, and I will at once see Sirayo about your departure. By the way, he has our share of one part of the treasure already found, and it will be sufficient to pay your way to Cape Town and to take her passage.”

He related what had occurred in the underground chamber.

“You will come also, of course, keeping near by day, and sharing our camp by night?”

“You have forgotten the Golden Rock. I will remain here.”

“Impossible! I could not leave you behind.”

“I will stay.”

“But what must I tell her?”

“Tell her that, as we came for the Golden Rock, it would be folly for the whole of us to return at the very time when the natives are friendly, and that I have remained behind in the interests of the party.”

“She will want to hear that from your own lips.”

“I will see Sirayo—tell him to make arrangements for your departure, and will leave for the rock. If she asks for me I will not be within call.”

“It is a miserable ending,” said Webster.

“Not for you,” said Hume meaningly.

“Why?”

“You will have an opportunity to push your suit, and you may do so.”

“Look here, Frank: I will take Miss Anstrade to Pretoria or Cape Town, and part with her as a friend—if she is willing to call me friend—and I will come back here to you. How long will it take for the double journey?”

“Three months.”

“In three months, then, I will be back.”

He went to the camp, and Miss Anstrade advanced quickly to meet him.

“Have you seen him?” she asked impatiently.

“Yes.”

“Why, then, is he not with you?”

“He is making arrangements for our departure, and I am afraid you will not see him—at any rate, at present.”

“Why not?”

“You will remember that we came here for a certain purpose, and that, certainly, was not to return as soon as we had arrived. One of us is to remain, and it is decided that I go with you.”

“Oh,” she said, looking haughtily at him, “is this your arrangement?”

“Yes,” he answered slowly; “I made it.”

“Then I decline to go with you.”

“I am afraid you must.”

“Where is Mr Hume?” she asked, as the blood flashed in her cheeks.

“Frank asked me to say good-bye. He is very busy. I told him how important it was he should lose no time.”

“Would you leave a blind man alone, and again seek the safest course yourself, you—you coward?”

“I should have told you,” he said gravely, “that Frank has recovered his sight;” and he stood waiting for her to speak, but she turned away, and, with a wild look around, he moved heavily down to the river, where he stood with head sunk, watching the water.

Sirayo made arrangements that evening with the people, and next morning a party of men with two trained oxen approached the little camp. Laura was persuaded to mount one of these; the kit was packed on another, and Webster, with Klaas and five natives, moved off in the direction of the forest for a secret path which led directly over the mountains beyond into the Transvaal.

Hume, from the ruins, saw the little party go, and watched them across the plain—watched them until they were out of sight, and afterwards stood there looking towards the west with a half-formed hope that they might return. For now in his loneliness the bitterness and pride of his spirit melted away. And so, he thought, had ended their great quest, his companions surrendering in disgust, himself filled with disappointment, though he had reached the goal.

The Golden Rock, the golden dreams, the links of friendship, the ties of love—where were they now? Ah, well, there was still the rock. He turned from the ruins, and with Sirayo went along the right side of the valley in search of it. Away over the river the women moved among the fields singing, and beyond in the great kraal the men were drinking beer; their drinking-song had gone droning on through the night, and was still coming in snatches.

“They sing loud and drink deep,” said Sirayo; “to-day they will slay whole armies in song; to-morrow they will have forgotten Sirayo and the help he gave. Already they have asked me about the gold that was in my sack.”

“Is there any danger, then?” asked Hume listlessly.

“I care not,” said Sirayo; “and your heart is heavy too. What will it matter?”

Hume stopped and looked anxiously across the river. “As you say, chief, what does it matter? But are our friends safe?”

“They are safe, for they go and have the word of Umkomaas the chief; but we are here, and they would love us better if we were away.”

“But you have done them a service, and they would have made you chief.”

“I have done them a service, and when they were hot they would have set me above them; but some of them will think the service was too great for any reward but death. Water will run, and men will always act the same. See where the vultures circle; below them lays the field of the fight.”

The unclean birds, with their bald heads bent earthwards between the vast sweep of their fringed wings, were circling round above the stained and trampled ground, whereon were many scores of dark figures rigid in death, and each swift circle bringing them nearer to their dreadful repast.

“Phaugh! to think that a warrior should come at last to the maw of such a creature!”

They moved among the dead, lying as they fell, with gaping wounds on the naked breasts, and saw standing alone a large rock rising from a bed of flat stone stained red with blood.

“See the stone of blood!” said Sirayo. “It was here they made their last stand.”

The Golden Rock! Hume looked at it with a feeling of horror and disgust, as though it were itself answerable for that ominous tinge of red; then his eye was caught by a singular life-like appearance, and advancing, he saw that the rock had been carved into the semblance of a coiled serpent, with the head slightly raised and projecting, giving to it a touch of defiance.

Looking closer, he saw that the coils were beautifully carved, the muscles standing out with startling distinctness, while each scale was clearly defined, and the whole polished to the smoothness of marble. The head stood about five feet from the ground, and the tail ran out in a small ridge across the flat rock at the back. Under the throat a broad vein of white quartz gave a wonderful touch of reality to the carving, and along the side of the coils were patches of yellow and black, while the topmost coils in line with the head were richly marked with yellow. From the broad blunt nose there was a continuous line of yellow over the head and along the backbone of the topmost coil.

“It is gold,” said Hume hoarsely—“pure gold—and if these veins and splashes run through the mass there must be thousands of ounces.”

“There are men hurrying from the kraal,” said Sirayo quietly.

“Let them come;” and Hume, without turning his head, drew his knife and began feverishly to scratch a yellow patch. “It is as hard as iron,” he muttered; “we shall have to blow it to pieces.”

“It has been long here,” said Sirayo, “that snake of stone, looking over the plain at the mountains. The people think it watches over them.”

“The people are fools,” said Hume gruffly. “There is gold enough here to buy up their cattle ten times over.”

“Soh! If they had so many cattle, other nations would have eaten them up. As it is, they have lived in peace to the present.”

“A fragment has been broken off here,” muttered Hume, going down on his knees; “and the vein runs right into the rock. Why, it spreads right over here!” He crept over the flat rock, thinking nothing of the stains of blood, and cried out that the whole bed was thickly shot with gold. “The rock has been cut down all round—see, here are the marks of the chisel! Miners have been at work here—white men.”

“No white people have been here. So they told me; but here are those who can answer best.”

A band of warriors led by an old Induna rapidly approached. The leader held a white wand in his hand; the warriors wore their blankets, which fell gracefully over their right shoulders, covering their right arms.

“Greeting!” said the old man.

“Greeting!” said Sirayo courteously.

“Why do you linger here among the dead, when on the other side there is plenty of beer and merriment? And what was the white man doing crawling around the rock?”

“And why have you left the feast to question me?”

“These questions are through my mouth, but they come from Umkomaas, the chief. He would have you near him, and he has sent a message.”

“Hu-em!” said Sirayo, while his nostrils expanded; “the time has come. Say what shall it be—one last fight, or, like an old lion weary of life, shall we die as we stand without a sound or a movement? I care not.”

“Why,” said Hume, “they are peaceful men;” but he brought his heavy rifle forward and stood beside the chief with his back to the rock.

“I know your message,” said Sirayo in his deep voice. “I can see it in your eyes, that fear to look straight. You carry it under your blankets, and it has a sharp edge to it. Stop!” he thundered, as there was a movement among the men. “I have a word to say to you. Let slip your blankets; the air is warm, and I know what you hold beneath them.”

The blankets slipped to the ground, and every man stood revealed with a stabbing assegai in his hand.

“Soh! It is well. Look around on the dead and tell me who they are.”

“Amazulus!” was the sullen cry.

“Yebo—Amazulus; and they lie as still as the blades of grass beneath them. Look, and think how ye would have fared, had not Sirayo fought against them. Where to-day would have been your flocks and your women? Sirayo is a great chief; it is because he is great that Umkomaas has sent you each with a message—Umkomaas, who was drawn by these hands out of the hole. Do you think that men such as you can slay me?” and he took a stride towards them.

They fell back, looking at each other, and the old Induna lifted his hands. “It is the will of Umkomaas and the headmen in council, O chief.”

“Learn—Sirayo cannot be slain. See these wounds—the blood yet drips from them—these scars; they tell you that Sirayo cannot be slain unless he so wishes.” He let his fierce gaze dwell on them, and his giant form seemed to tower above them. “Let this white man go, and to-night you may do the will of the chief; but if harm befalls my friend, my spirit will return; you will hear your cattle moan in the night, and in the morning they will be dead.”

“Never!” said Hume, who had followed the strange speech without difficulty. “I will not take my life on such terms.”

“Hu-em! my day has passed and the night comes. Of what use is it that we should both die? Take the road to the forest while there is light, and the dread of me will keep these men quiet till I give them the sign.”

“And they will follow me up!”

“What say you? can the white man go? Remember my words: Sirayo living is not to be so feared as Sirayo dead.”

“Ay, he can go; the chief said nothing concerning him.”

“Go, my friend, and when you grow old, see that you have children about you. It is not well to be alone then.”

“I stay with you, chief,” said Hume quietly.

“Is that the last word?”

“Yes.”

“It is a fight, then;” and the big Zulu, throwing back his head, began to shout of his deeds, while he stamped on the rock in a sort of dance, a dance that grew quicker, winding up with a terrific bound in the direction of the men. They did not wait for him, but turned and fled, and Sirayo stood looking after them in amazement.

“You frightened them,” said Hume with a laugh.

The chief shook his head, took a pinch of snuff, and smiled grimly.

“Ay,” he said; “they will have some lies to tell the council. You see it was as I said: they would like us better if we went away. I cannot frighten them with words when they come again. Why stay, since they don’t want us, and you cannot carry that rock away with you?”

Hume laid his hand on the carved head of the serpent, and looked gloomily across the river, then at the deserted stretch of the valley on the near side. Its desolation struck him, and he called his companion’s attention to it.

“How is it that this side of the valley is deserted, while beyond there are so many? The ground looks rich, and the grass is good.”

“It is some folly of the witch-doctors, from what I have heard.”

Under cover of the night they went back to the ruins, and there they found the old witch-woman alone, sitting smoking over the fire.

“I thought,” she said, “you would have been crow’s meat before this. The witch-doctors smelt you out last night. They doctored some warriors; how is it you escaped?”

“Oh, they were old women. They came, but I shook my fingers at them, and they ran.”

“Ho, ho! if they’d been old women they would not have run. So they ran; and you—why did you not run also?”

“We have come for the stone of fire, old mother.”

“Yinny! That is where the amapagati dance and make their medicine. No one can touch the rock and live.”

“We have touched it. The amapagati are fools; but surely if they touch it now that we claim it, they will die.”

The old dame grinned.

“See,” she said. “I know. You cannot frighten me with such things. But, as you say, the wise men are fools; they have made this side of the valley a fear to the people. Oh, I know their tricks—how they would prick cattle, when they strayed on this side, with a snake’s tooth, and then tell the people the deed was done by the fetich, the great snake-spirit. Ay, they have slain men too, and girls who went to the river for water have disappeared.”

“If that is so,” said Hume, “it would be better if the snake rock were removed.”

“Eweh, O red eyes—and the amapagati as well. They have beaten me. Let them die, I say.”

Hume gave a bit of tobacco to her, and as she filled her pipe he shot a significant look across at Sirayo.

“It is not well for an old woman to be here without good food and warm shelter. You should have a hut in the kraal,” said Sirayo.

“They killed my son when he brought me food one night,” she said hoarsely; “and they threaten to smell out my daughter if I leave these rocks—the sons of dogs and earth-pigs!”

“Soh! we will talk over this in the morning. In the meantime go you to the river, and call out that we have gone.”

“But you will stay and slay them?”

“We have said it.”

“Oh ay, I will go. They have grown fat on lies; now I will repay them. I will show you this night where they keep their girls, all young and fat, the he-goats that they are.”

When she had gone, Hume immediately pointed out that they could turn the superstitious fears of the people to their own advantage.

“Well, for my part,” said Sirayo, “I am curious about these girls. If they have put up long with the company of snuffy old men, they will know how to receive a man and a warrior;” and he stretched his limbs.

The old woman, having done her mission by shouting until someone heard her, returned, and led them up the mountain, where, in a kloof whose narrow entrance was almost hidden by huge rocks, they found a small kraal and saw the light of fires.

The old woman clapped her hands and called out:

“Come and see what presents I have brought you, children!”

A door was opened and three girls crept out, laughing, one of them, with her naked toe, pushing the half-burnt logs on to the smouldering coals.

“What is it, mother?”

“Guess, my children.”

“A young kid,” said one, smacking her lips.

“Tobacco,” said another.

“Hark to them!” said a third scornfully. “You bring news, is it not so? We heard sounds of a fight. Our people have fled, and we are free!”

“Ay, there was a big fight, and our people have won.”

“You gabble, old woman! Our men have no stomach for fighting. They can only talk.”

“Noenti, how you chatter! If our folk have won, they will be feasting and dancing.”

“Oh, your news is old like yourself, mother,” said Noenti. “We saw the fighting, and our people won; but it was because of the stranger who led them—a great man.”

“Oh, well, if you know everything I will return; when I was a girl I always listened to what my elders had to say. So you saw the fight and the great chief. I could have told about him, but you already know.”

“Tell us!” they all cried together. “Catch her, hold her fast!” and, running round the fire, they came full tilt against Sirayo.

“Yinny!” they cried, and bolted like rabbits for the hut, while the old dame laugh shrilly.

Presently they peeped out, and after much giggling emerged once more, and came and peeped up at Sirayo, and walked round him.

“What say you, my children, have I not done well? Here is the great chief himself.”

The girls shrieked with laughter, and then, under the direction of Noenti, brought out meat and thick Kaffir beer.

Hume left them seated round the fire, chattering like children all together, and sat at the mouth of the kloof, gazing idly before him. And as he sat there watching the stars in the east he heard footsteps approaching stealthily, so he stepped gently from the rock, crouching down in the shadow.

As the group at the fire laughed while the girls filled the calabash, seeing how much their magnificent visitor could drink, Hume appeared within the circle of light with a man in his grasp.

“Here is another visitor,” he said.

“Yoh!” exclaimed one of the girls, “it is our master;” and she ran frightened away, while the old dame seized a brand from the fire, and held it before the malignant face of the same man who had led the Zulus to the ruins.

“Soh! it is you,” said Sirayo; “you are welcome; come, sit by me;” and, seizing the man by the leg, he jerked him over the fire to his side. “The beer is good—drink, man, drink.”

“Nay,” cried the old dame, “drink he shall not.”

“Drink,” said Sirayo, with a frightful grimace; “for it is the last your lips will touch. Since you have walked into the den, you will not leave it alive.”

“No, chief,” said Hume; “you must not take the blood of such a creature.”

“As you say, Hu-em. Let us leave him to the old woman; but this tuft on your hair let me have it, and this necklet of teeth, and this bag of old bones;” and Sirayo stripped from the cowering man all the ornaments and trappings of his office. “Now, Noenti, fix them on me; I will to-night play the part of witch-doctor.”

“There is a place in the hut here for you,” she said.

“Keep it warm for me, then, but to-night I will cross the river and listen to their talk. Is it not well, Hu-em?”

“No, the plan is wild; they will detect you at once.”

“I will crouch under a blanket and keep in the shadow. Moreover, I see there is a good time for me if I can keep them on their side. I will frighten them with a tale of the spirit of the snake; and is it not said among the tribes that in council Sirayo is as cunning as the jackal? though it is a mangy beast. Yes, I will go.”

“If you will go, warn them that when the sun is up they must collect the dead on the field, and bury them well and deep, lest a pestilence strike them.”

“Ho, ho! I see you would work by the rock. Good! I will say the spirit is offended by the dead.”

Noenti having finished fixing on the witch-doctor’s belongings, Sirayo bounded over the fire, and was in a moment out of sight, while the old dame, with the willing help of the girls, bound the despoiled rascal tightly, and thrust him into a hen-coop with unnecessary violence. Whether the man died of fright, or whether some darker fate befell him, Hume never found out, but in the morning he saw that the coop was empty.

Before daybreak Sirayo returned, cool and uninjured, with the report that the people had already set out to bury the dead, and that they fully believed that he and Hume had fled. Then he rolled himself in his blanket and slept soundly till morn, when he awoke to eat heartily, and then to play and talk with the girls, who were merry enough, no matter what part they might have taken in the disappearance of the witch-doctor.

They remained within the shelter of their retreat through the day, and in the night, with the laughing help of the girls, they made strange noises by the river, and bore aloft on poles weird globes of light to frighten the natives and imbue them with respect for the sanctity of the deserted side of the valley. Those mysterious, pale, and ghostly globes that flitted in the air were but the rinds of hollowed pumpkins, luminous from the light of burning tinder within; but they produced a great sensation on the people, who on the following day crossed the river with presents of food which they placed round the Golden Rock. This was, however, an unwelcome sign of respect, and when the darkness once brought down hundreds of people to the river to watch for the globes of spirit-light, they saw suddenly a horrid face literally blaze out of the night, with a tongue of flame and fiery eyes, while a slow, solemn, thunderous voice bade them keep to their huts, lest they should be driven into the water. That lesson was enough for the credulous folk; the hollowed pumpkin with the punctured eyes and mouth was put away, Sirayo dallied with the girls, and Hume, with the crowbar he had carried from the waggon, slowly bored into the carved rock.

In the still nights when the wide valley was hushed in silence, except only for the melancholy howl of a jackal, he laboured to destroy that old, old work of human hands, done in a time long past. It was eerie work, and there were times when he would lay down his tool and stare at the menacing head of the great snake, then take a slow look around him. It was very quiet, and the darkness shut him in like a wall, but that still, erect head he could always see outlined as he sat, against the stars, and one night suddenly he thought of the lone hermit of the river and shivered. It seemed that there were strange forms peering at him also, undefined, shadowy shapes with muffled faces. He stood up, looked around him fiercely, as though he would invite his fancies to take shape so that he might confront them, then he ran blindly away. In the daylight he smiled bitterly at his fears, but that night again the forbidding phantoms crowded thick and thicker on his imagination, until, without accomplishing a stroke, he once more fled from his task.

“You have seen,” said Sirayo, as he looked at Hume’s face by the light of the fire. “What have you seen?”

“I am a child again, chief. I am frightened by shadows.”

“See,” said the old woman solemnly; “I said they would come.”

“Yebo!” said Sirayo, “a rock is a rock, and it cannot speak; but when men have breathed into it, have put themselves into it, have taken it into their inmost thoughts, it is no longer a rock. No man has said that I fear, but yet if, not knowing of it, I came on that rock in the night, I should be afraid. Leave it, my friend, lest the spirit take possession of you, and you start and mutter, and grow wild-eyed.”

“I have bored three holes,” said Hume; “to-morrow I will split it without doing more work.”

“It is true: white men are never content. They have been bitten by the water-beetle, and never rest.”

The next night the people in the kraals saw once again the pale globe flitting about, and as they marvelled there was a flash of fire and a dull rumbling report. The next morning, when they looked across, they saw that the Golden Rock was no more, and, with a sense of something old and familiar gone from their lives, they wailed in their sorrow.

Chapter Thirty Eight.

Better than Gold.

When Sirayo saw that no harm befell Hume for the act of sacrilege, he helped him bring the scattered fragments of the rock to the hidden valley, and when the mass of now shapeless ore was stored up, with its threads and veins of gold gleaming yellow, preparations were made to break it up. From the crowbar, after much labour about a roughly-made furnace, Hume made two great hammers, and for days he and Sirayo battered at the hard quartz, reducing it by slow degrees to small fragments. This work they had done on a wide flat rock, banked in so that nothing should be lost, and next, with native-made shallow dishes of baked clay, they began on the less arduous and more exciting business of washing for gold-dust. So alternately washing and crushing from week to week, they at last succeeded with their primitive methods in rescuing a vast amount of gold-dust, coarse grains, and large pellets from the mass of rich ore.

At one time they were threatened with trouble, a prying witch-doctor having braved the unknown dangers by crossing the river and surprising the little party at work. Sirayo and the old woman, setting their wits to work, managed, however, to detach Inyame, who moved over with his entire regiment, and placed himself under the chief. A fierce conflict was prevented by a meeting between Sirayo and Umkomaas, and by the time Webster was expected back a new kraal had been built about the shattered rock, and herds of cattle grazed on the rich grass.

Sirayo was now a respected chief with a royal household, the lively Noenti being the head wife.

Gradually Hume’s face regained some of its comeliness, but he seemed to live in an atmosphere of gloom, and spent much of his time alone, looking to the west for the return of his friend. The interest which had kept him up so long as there was a lump of quartz to crush had failed him. He was listless, silent and moody, so that the children shunned him, and the women turned away when he came near. They thought he was possessed; and so he was—by a melancholy of the mind and irritability of nerves, severely shaken by the hardships he had undergone. He had succeeded, so he told himself. He had alone won the Golden Rock and by indomitable energy broken it up, but this gave him no pleasure. Nay, he grew to doubt whether he had done right. What right had he to destroy that carved image, that masterpiece of ancient workers, to shed blood for its possession? So he brooded gloomily in his loneliness, and the only comfort he derived was the spectacle of growing crops on the land that was formerly shunned.

And Webster would not return. Why should he? He had, no doubt, crossed the ocean with her, and by this time they would be married, for sailors were always quick in their loves. But he would wait. And yet while these thoughts ran always in his mind he would look towards the west, growing thin, haggard and unkempt.

One day the scouts reported the arrival of a stranger, and Hume watched him come—a mounted man with a servant behind, leading a spare horse.

“This is some traveller,” said Hume—“some chance traveller who has entered the valley. I will hide till he goes.”