ome. The third, of course, did
not understand what was being said, or rather howled, outside.

"Well, you can wait," called back Elvesdon. "I am an official of the
Government--of the most powerful Government the world has ever seen. I
am not accustomed to be hurried, and I will not be. When we are ready
we will come forth."

It was the boldness of desperation. If an attacking force was advancing
it might be here at any moment. They were not going forth to hold out
their throats to be cut.

There was silence at this answer, save that a few deep voices were
vehemently debating in a wholly indistinct undertone. Elvesdon and
Thornhill looked around for a weapon, even a stick. There was nothing
of the sort within the hut. They even put up their hands and groped
among the thatch in the hope of finding concealed assegais--anything for
a weapon! Same result. There was nothing.

"The chief would see you, _Abelungu_," now called out a voice in more
conciliatory tones. "The chief--_Au_! he would speak with you."

"Well, I suppose we must chance it," said Thornhill. Elvesdon nodded.
The other, of course, had no say in the matter. The trio passed through
the low doorway, and stood upright. What was this? They were in the
midst of hundreds of armed warriors. The latter looked dusty and travel
soiled. Some, even, had wounds bound up, the blood which had filtered
through the filthy rags, browned and hardened upon them.

"Where is the chief?" cried Elvesdon. "As a Government official I talk
to no common man."

A growl arose, and assegai hafts rattled ominously. But the policy of
boldness answered here. No aggressive move was made.

"There he is, _Abelungu_," said one or two.

They passed between the armed ranks, to where a tall man was standing.
He was a sullen, heavy-faced savage, black-bearded, and holding his
shining head-ring as proudly thrown back as though he were the Zulu
king, at least.

"Greeting Nteseni," said Thornhill. "It is not long since we met, and
now we meet again. I am glad to look upon your face, and having done
so, I think now we will go home."

The chief returned no answer, save for a sullen grunt. The armed men
however made up for his silence, for they crowded up, in a kind of
war-dancing step, and their clamour was for blood, to make up for the
blood that had been shed, to make the _muti_ which should put into those
who tasted it the strength that should enable them to avenge