reenoak awoke at sundown, aroused by a light touch from his
host, who had been watching carefully over his safety.

"It is nearly time to depart, Kulondeka," said the latter. "To have
done so earlier would not have been safe, to remain later would not be
safe either; for, bear in mind, I am not the Great Chief, but only his
child. And he has other children."

There was significance in this. The very short twilight--for darkness
falls suddenly under Southern skies--was used by Greenoak in solemnly
repeating his former warnings. Then, when it was dark enough, they went
outside, where the horse was already standing, all ready and saddled.

"Fare thee well, son of the Great Chief," said Greenoak as he mounted.
"My heart is sore for thee and the people if my words pass unheeded. I
can say no more."

Matanzima's face was gloomy, and his tones sad as he answered--

"Fare thee well, Kulondeka. Who can alter or foresee his fate? For
thyself, ride with care this night, and with wide-open eyes. Yet, who
am I to offer counsel to one such as thee."

The dark shadows of the adjacent bush, soon gained, swallowed up the
rider. But he knew it in the dark as in the daylight; knew it as well
as--even better than--the savages whose home it was, and who were even
then lying, spread out in a line covering some distance, lurking, eager,
every faculty of sight and hearing, and even scent, at the fullest
tension as they awaited their sure and certain prey. Would they seize
it? Such seemed indeed probable, for now, to make assurance doubly
sure, not only lay the waiting enemy in front, but behind, stealthily
flitting on, keeping the horseman ever in sight, moved a single form--
that of an evil, thick-set, scrabbly bearded savage--the same whom we
saw dogging his way in the darkness when he first set forth upon his
perilous mission: the bulk, indeed, of whose peril had yet to be
encountered.

Gaining the high ground, which should shut the valley from view,
Greenoak looked back. The location lay beneath, quiet under the stars.
A twinkle of light from some open hut door or the spark of an outside
fire showed in the distance, but there was no sound of dancing or
revelry. The night air blew fresh and sweet as he plunged down into a
deep bushy valley.

Listening intently, he gave forth the cry of a night bird, then again.
It was answered. Dismounting, he led his horse a few paces--then
halted, soothing the animal, as a figure ro