se out of the gloom with
rather startling suddenness. But its apparition seemed to convey no
alarm to Harley Greenoak, for between him and it there now followed a
short, low-toned, but very emphatic and earnest conference.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"_Whau_!" ejaculated Mafutana, in a smothered whisper.

"Do you hear anything, brother?"

Sikonile, raising his head, seemed to be trying to pierce the darkness.
His broad nostrils snuffed the night air, like those of a buck.

"He comes," was the answer.

Rapidly the word was passed along the line of crouching savages. And
now the soft footfall of an unshod horse was plainly audible, advancing
straight towards them. Hands gripped assegai hafts with fierce and
bloodthirsty thrill, yet no weapon was to be used. The white man was to
be taken alive, and, as their plans had been laid, he would easily be so
taken. A mandate was issued by Mafutana to some of the young men, and
these moved quickly away down the hill, widening out so that they should
give the advancing horseman time to get within the toils, yet not too
near, lest the horse should wind them and show alarm.

Along the dark ridge the crouching savages lay, tense with excitement;
every head raised, listening, like that of some evil snake. Then a
quick gasp escaped them. Just below there was the thud of a heavy fall,
and the plunging of frantic hoofs, the jingle of a bit, and the rattle
of stones. Like lightning they were up and sweeping down upon the spot.
But no sound was uttered. This had to be brought through in silence.

Already as they arrived, their forerunners had raised the fallen horse,
which stood trembling and snorting in terror, and had flung themselves
upon and pinioned its rider. Others grinned as they untied the long
reims which, extended from bush stump to bush stump across the path, had
composed the trap which had effected their capture so easily and
bloodlessly.

Sikonile came forward with a grin of hate upon his countenance that was
simply demoniacal. He would have such a sweet revenge now. But as he
pushed through the throng to look at the prisoner a murmur of wonder
which had arisen had increased to a hubbub. This was not Kulondeka at
all.

It was one of themselves--a native. In the starlight they could see his
face. Yet--the horse was that of Kulondeka.

"Who are you?" asked Sikonile, an assegai raised threateningly.

"Pato