e inner inclosure which surrounded
the king's quarters, and a body of them, numbering about fifty, under
the leadership of the king's eldest son, now stood with their backs to
the palisades, resolutely confronting Simba and his companions, with
heavy spears in their hands.

Simba, at this time before a foe on whom he could exert the full power
of his arm, became transformed into the embodiment of a black Mars, the
god of war. He was no longer the humble and obedient servant of Sheikh
Amer and the true friend of Selim. He was more; he was their
irresistible leader. In his eyes glowed the ardour of fierce battle;
the terrible savage spirit of the Warundi, hitherto constrained for
faithful, though menial, service, had burst its trammels, and he now
stood, with uplifted musket,--confessed--the bronze Achilles of the war.
His fierce eye caused the doomed fugitives to quail with cowardly
dread; and when aimed at him, the heavy spears of the Warori fell
harmless at his feet. Giving vent to the hitherto latent passion of the
savage's soul in a loud bellowing cry, he sprang forward, and the
rapidity with which he dealt his blows with his clubbed musket awed even
the warrior soul of his Arab chief. But not for long did Amer pause to
regard even the prowess of Simba. Calling to his followers, he raised
his long two-edged sword, and darted at the enemy, plying the weapon
best known to him and his race with a power which elicited as much
admiration as Simba's strength of arm and dexterity of stroke had done.

Rendered desperate by the knowledge of their situation, the remaining
Warori, headed by their chief, made a rush towards their enemies and
used their heavy spears with frantic energy. In front of the Warori
chief stood Selim, firing and loading his rifle with a coolness and
method which would have won applause from his father's people had the
combatants not been so busily engaged. He was in the act of re-loading
when the desperate rush of the Warori was made, and their chief stood
with uplifted spear above him; but well was it for him that the watchful
eye of Moto was on him, else had our story been ended here, ere it is
hardly begun. When it seemed that Selim could not have been saved, and
he stood expectant of the blow which would have ended his young life
there and then, he saw the chief's head fall back with a cruel jagged
wound in the temple, through which the bullet of Moto had sped home.

The Warori no longer