hey were too fine and stately of
aspect--with their lofty, commanding brows, and clear, full glance--to
belong to any of the tribes around. They were not Wangoni--they wore too
striking a look to come of even that fine race. Who could they be?

His conjectures on that head, rapid as they were, ceased abruptly, for a
perfect volley of spears came whizzing about him, several burying their
heads deep within the stem of the tree-fern. Well indeed for him that
he had so rapidly placed even that slight rampart between himself and
his enemies.

Deeming parley better than fight, under the circumstances, Laurence
began quickly upon them in a mixture of Swahili and Zulu, declaring that
he could be no enemy to them or to their race. But a loud mocking laugh
drowned his words; and, seeing that the savages had suddenly half
crouched behind their shields for a charge, his quick, resourceful brain
grasped the situation at once. A puff of smoke, a jet of flame from
behind the tree-fern. One of the warriors fell forward on his shield,
beating the earth with his great limbs in the throes of death.

They had hardly reckoned upon this. Crouching low, now they glide away
among the scrub, keeping well within cover. But that solitary,
determined man, flattened there against the tree-fern, draws no hope
from this. Their manoeuvre is a simple one enough. They are going to
enfilade the position. Surrounded on all sides, and by such foes as
these, where will he be? for he has no cover.

But in Laurence Stanninghame's stern eyes there is a lurid battle-glow,
a very demon light. His enemies will have his life, but they will
purchase it at a long price. A dead silence now reigns, and through it
he can hear the stealthy rustle made by his foes in their efforts to
surround him. Were he in the comparative security of cover, or behind a
rampart of any sort, he might hope, by a superhuman effort of quick
firing, to hold them back. As it is, he dare not move from behind his
tree, suspecting an intention to draw him thence.

The sun flames blood-red upon the lagoon and upon a flight of
flamingoes winnowing above the mirror-like surface, and, as though the
situation were not deadly and desperate enough, the shimmer of light and
water has, even in that brief glance, brought a spot in front of his
eyes, at the moment when, if ever, his sight should be at its clearest
and quickest. The odds against him are indeed terrible. He can hardly
hope to come throu