robably, six feet two inches,
but whilst he was not quite so tall as Amaxosa he possessed a more
heavily built frame, being broader and deeper in the chest, and more
massive in his appearance generally. Taken all through, he was,
perhaps, the more powerful of the two men, but what the Zulu lacked in
point of muscle was more than compensated for by the symmetry of his
build, and his consequently superior activity; besides, this was
relatively speaking, a man of peace, whilst the fierce Zulu was a man of
war from his youth up, trained in every art and artifice, and inured to
hardships and dangers by the experiences of many a well-fought field.

The Chieftain of the Stick had an intensely "Negro" face, but without
its ordinary stolidity, and, in common with his warriors, had his head
shaved with the exception of a sort of central tuft, which somewhat
resembled the "scalp lock" of the North American Indians, and through
this tuft was thrust, in the case of every man, a miniature quayre,
beautifully carved in ivory, standing, in point of fact, for the "totem"
of his tribe, and proudly indicating the race from which he sprang.

The chief--whose name, by the way, was "Barad," or "The Hailstorm"--in a
few well-chosen words, thanked the white men for releasing himself and
his people, and then declared his intention of putting his party
entirely into the hands of our friends, until vengeance had been taken
upon the wicked men "who dwelt on the frontier of the far north, and
amongst the mountains of Muzi Zimba the Ancient." Our friends were more
than surprised to find that their new allies both knew and reverenced
the friendly hermit who overlooked Zero's location, but found that
beyond sending the old man a yearly "hongo," or tribute, they knew
nothing of him, but regarded him as a "very big fetish."

Amaxosa and Leigh now returning empty-handed and disgusted from their
search after Zero, a council was called to receive their report. This
was as short as it was unsatisfactory. The slaver had been
unquestionably wounded by Grenville's bullet, but it was, unfortunately,
one of those wounds which act upon a flying foe as they do upon a
running deer, and simply make him leap the faster.

The pair had followed the track of the fugitive for close upon ten
miles, beyond which it was useless to go, as they now knew positively
from the "sign" that Zero had unearthed a canoe from its hiding-place
amongst some rocks near the river, a