adow of its master begins to slink away over
the _veldt_. This and the swaggering insolence of the Kafir is too much
for Carhayes. Up goes his piece: there is a flash and a report. The
wretched hound sinks in his tracks without even a yelp, and lies feebly
kicking his life away, with the blood welling from a great circular
wound behind the shoulder. The poor beast has run down his last buck.

[Commonly known as Kreli--the paramount chief of all the Xosa tribes.]

The train is fired. Like the crouching leopard crawling nearer for a
surer spring the great Kafir, with a sudden glide, advances to the
horse's head, and makes a quick clutch at the bridle. Had he succeeded
in seizing it, a rapidly followed up blow from the deadly kerrie would
have stretched the rider senseless, if not dead, upon the _veldt_. But
the latter is too quick for him. Jerking back his horse's head and
driving in both spurs, he causes the animal to rear and plunge, thus
defeating any attempt on the part of his enemies to drag him from the
saddle, as well as widening the distance between himself and them.

"Stand back, you curs!" he roars, dropping his piece to a level with the
chest of the foremost. "The first who moves another step shall be
served the same as that brute of a dog!"

But the Kafirs only laugh derisively. They are shrewd enough to know
that the civil law is still paramount, and imagine he dare not fire on
them. A kerrie hurtles through the air with an ugly "whigge." Blind
with fury, Carhayes discharges his remaining barrel full at the tall
savage, who is still advancing towards him, and whose threatening
demeanour and formidable aspect seems to warrant even that extreme step
in self-defence. The Kafir falls.

Surprised, half cowed by this unlooked for contingency, the others pause
irresolute. Before they can recover themselves a warning shout, close
at hand, creates a diversion which seems likely to throw a new light on
the face of affairs.

CHAPTER TWO.

"YOU HAVE STRUCK A CHIEF."

"_Baleka_ [Run], you dogs!" cried Carhayes, who had taken the
opportunity of slipping a couple of fresh cartridges into his gun.
"_Baleka_, or I'll shoot the lot of you."

He looked as if he meant it, too. The Kafirs, deeming discretion the
better part of valour, judged it expedient to temporise.

"Don't shoot again, _Baas_! [Master.] You have already killed one
man!" they said significantly.

"And I'll kill four!" was the i