mingling with the shouting and confusion, and the terrified lowing of
the cattle half-frenzied with the sight and smell of blood--the
overhanging cliffs echoed back in sharper tones the "crack-crack" of the
rifles of the Kaffirs, who, well under cover themselves, kept up a
continuous, but luckily ineffective, fire upon the patrol.

Suddenly a dark form rose up in front of the horsemen. Springing like a
cat the savage made a swift stab at the breast of his intended victim,
who swerved quickly, but not quickly enough, and the blade of the
assegai descended, inflicting an ugly wound in the man's side. Dropping
to the ground again, the daring assailant ducked in time to avoid the
revolver bullet aimed at him, and gliding in among the fleeing cattle,
escaped before the infuriated frontiersman could get in another shot.
So quickly did it all take place that, except the wounded man himself,
hardly anybody knew what had happened.

"Hurt, Thompson?" sung out Hoste, seeing that the man looked rather
pale.

"No. Nothin' to speak of, at least. Time enough to see to it by and
by."

As he spoke the horse of another man plunged and then fell heavily
forward. The poor beast had been mortally stricken by one of the
enemy's missiles, and would never rise again. The dismounted man ran
alongside of a comrade, holding on by the stirrup of the latter.

"Why, what's become of the Bomvana?" suddenly inquired someone.

They looked around. There was no sign of their guide. Could he have
been playing them false and slipped away in the confusion? Even now the
enemy might be lying in wait somewhere in overwhelming force, ready to
cut off their retreat.

"By Jove! There he is!" cried another man presently. "And--the
beggar's dead!"

He was. In the confusion of the attack they had forgotten their guide,
who must have fallen into the hands of the enemy, and have been
sacrificed to the vengeance of the latter. The body of the unfortunate
Bomvana, propped up in a sitting posture against a tree by his slayers
in savage mockery, presented a hideous sight. The throat was cut from
ear to ear, and the trunk was nearly divided by a terrible gash right
across it just below the ribs, while from several assegai stabs the dark
arterial blood was still oozing forth.

"Faugh!" exclaimed Hoste with a grimace of disgust, while two or three
of the younger men of the party turned rather pale as they shudderingly
gazed upon the sickening sight.