putting
something or somebody to rights," was the answer.

By this time it was well known that the Gaika locations were in a frame
of mind that may best be described as smouldering. So far the
grog-sodden mind of Sandili was incapable of deciding anything. Whoever
got the old chief's ear last spoke the "word" that was "good." But his
warrior son, Matanzima, and the young men of the tribe, were spoiling
for a chance to distinguish themselves. The spirit of Donnybrook was
dangerously abroad.

But their kinsmen, the Gcalekas, across the Kei, had been badly defeated
and their country cleared--this, then, was no time for a rising on the
Colonial side. So one would have thought, but a short-sighted policy
had allowed one by one of the burgher forces in the Transkei to evacuate
that territory without supplying their place. The war was over, it was
pronounced. Was it? Back came the defeated paramount tribe, swarming
into its old country again; the Paramount Chief, Kreli, as paramount as
ever, and laughing at the "softness" of the white man. These were now
plotting to stir up the intra-Colonial tribes, and by a simultaneous
rising on the part of these to drive the said white man "into the sea,"
as their expressive way of putting it ran.

This plot was, of course, suspected by many, and known by few, but it
was reserved for Harley Greenoak to find out through one of those
mysterious sources of information that seemed closed to others, that the
time for its execution was imminent. An accredited body of Gcaleka
fighting men was to cross the Kei into Sandili's location, and their
arrival was to be the signal that the moment for rising had come.
Thousands upon thousands of armed savages would thus hold the frontier
at their mercy. It was too late to prevent this. The only course was
to neutralise it, by being prepared. And the bulk of the armed force
upon the border had been withdrawn.

Harley Greenoak got up and went to his room. He took down his guns and
drew them from their holsters. The double .500 Express was deadly with
big game, but he was not sure he did not prefer the rifle and
smooth-bore for man. A charge of Treble A. buckshot was so deadly at
anything like close quarters. Yes, he would take the one with the shot
barrel. It, with his ordinary and very businesslike revolver,
constituted a most formidable armament, in the hands of one who so
thoroughly knew how to use it as himself. Returning to the ot