they represented, and could not talk with their tongue. Let him remain
with those who could. One stalwart scoundrel who appeared to be in a
position of some authority, bent down and shook a bright, wicked looking
blade within the low doorway.

"Keep quiet, _Abelungu_! You are not masters here. If you come forth
without orders, that is death."

"_Abelungu_!" "White men!" That was a pretty insolent sort of way to
address a Government official, together with a man of Thornhill's
standing. It bore its full significance too. But they were helpless.
Two men unarmed against a large armed force! Of course they were
helpless.

"Poor boy," said Elvesdon as they were left alone. "I'm afraid he won't
find it so exciting now."

"In a way I'm glad we're alone together for a time at any rate," was the
answer. "We can talk things over more freely. And we'll not have to do
that too loud either, for there's a good sprinkling of these chaps who
know English--though they won't let go that they do--thanks to the
mischievous idiots who have gone in for educating them."

"If we come through this all right, I'll put in all the good word I can
to get that youngster on in the force," said Elvesdon. "He showed pluck
and readiness to-day, never lost his head for a single moment."

"More he did. Now I wonder who wrote you that letter."

"Oh don't refer to the beastly thing, Thornhill. If only I had opened
it at first--as I ought to have done. No--it won't bear thinking about.
Wait--I'll burn it, in case it might compromise the writer, if the
worst comes to the worst."

He twisted the letter into a screw and set it alight, kindling his pipe
with it. Anyone might come in at any moment, and such a proceeding
would, in that event, look less suspicious.

Someone did come in, but it was rather a welcome entry, for it was that
of a couple of women, bearing food; roasted mealies and some grilled
beef, which latter, however, neither looked nor smelt very tempting.

"What's this? Water?" said Elvesdon, investigating the contents of a
bowl. "The stingy swabs might have sent us some _tywala_ while they
were about it."

Putting it to the women, who were kindling a fire in the round hollow in
the middle of the floor, one of them replied that beer was scarce.
There were so many men in the kraal--she supposed they must have drunk
it all. Elvesdon put his hand into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out
a shilling.

"See if you can f