rough the upper part of the waggon
tilt, while another struck one of the mules in the hinder quarters, and
started the poor brute kicking and squealing in such wise as nearly to
stampede the whole team and get it completely out of hand. Added to
which some of the police horses were prancing and shying, and rendering
it all that their riders could do to stick on, let alone use their
weapons. Quick to perceive their advantage, the Matabele warriors
swarmed down the rocks, or leapt upward from among the bushes,
redoubling the volume of their vibrating, ferocious war-hiss--dancing,
leaping, clashing their axes and shields together; in short, raising a
most demoniacal and indescribable din.

Fullerton, watching his side of the vehicle, was cool enough and had his
full share of pluck, but he was a lamentable revolver shot, and, after
three bad misses, the assailants became alive to the fact, and began to
run in closer with more confidence.

"Damn this thing!" he yelled, in his excitement and mortification. "It
has a pull off you'd require a steam crane to move. Clare, give me
yours."

"No," she answered shortly. And at the same moment two warriors sprang
up behind a rock and quick as lightning hurled their casting assegais--
not at their human enemies, but at the mule team. Struck in the
shoulder, one poor mule stumbled and plunged wildly, and only the fact
that Wyndham was a first-rate whip performed the miracle that prevented
it from falling entirely. Then taking advantage of the confusion,
several warriors, their shields covering them, the broad stabbing spear
uplifted, charged forward to stab the leaders, and thus have the whole
outfit at their mercy. But they reckoned without Clare Vidal.

Small wonder that they did. Small wonder that these unsparing savage
warriors, trained all their lives in battle and bloodshed and deeds of
pitiless ferocity, should have overlooked the fact that in this
beautiful and winsome girl there lurked a reserve of splendid Irish
courage and readiness and heroism. Cool, steady-handed as a rock, she
poured in succession three of her remaining four shots into the leaders
of the rush, and as those behind their falling bodies halted--checked,
dismayed--no less coolly and steady-handed did she reload the chambers
of her pistol. And she had saved the situation--so for.

Wyndham glanced up, and dismay was in his heart. He had hoped to find
easier country beyond this point, but the roa