t delay for the
sake of a fight unless you are obliged--you are always tempted to do
that, you know. Think what I--what we--shall be suffering all the
time."

"No--little one. You may take your oath I'll do nothing of the kind.
But I'll bring him--them--back or I won't come back myself. That, also,
you may take your oath to," he answered huskily, gruffly. "Now--
good-bye--good-bye."

He disappeared into the darkness. No lights were shown--no fuss was
made about seeing them off. So the two women were left alone to weep--
and perchance to pray.

Had it been light enough as the horsemen moved away it might have been
seen that they led among them two spare mounts. It might also have been
seen that there was another led horse, but it was not a riderless one.
On its back, his feet tied beneath its belly with a raw-hide thong, sat
the Zulu prisoner. Though firmly convinced of the good faith of the
latter, Hyland had no idea of taking any risks. To a savage, even
though riding in their very midst, to slip off into the darkness of the
thick bush and disappear would be no impossible feat, but to do so,
firmly bound to the horse itself, would be: and this had been explained
to him. But he took it with characteristic imperturbability.

"What I have said I will do I will do. What Ugwala says he will do he
will do. I am content," was his unruffled comment upon this apparent
indignity.

"Attend, Njalo," whispered Hyland, ranging his horse alongside that of
the captive. "If you are true to us now and we rescue those whom we
seek, letting you escape is not all that will happen to you for good.
Cattle shall be yours--cattle that will make you almost a rich man among
your people, after the troubles are all over. That will be good, will
it not, and such is my word to you?"

"_Au! Nkose_ has an open hand," answered the man in a gratified tone.
"And I think that the two whom you seek will return with you."

"The _two_ whom you seek," he had said. Not until afterwards did it
occur to Hyland to wonder how it was the speaker knew that there were
only two left to seek. Here again that wonderful, mysterious native
telegraphy must have come in.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

MANAMANDHLA'S STORY.

To the said `two' it seemed that life could contain no further horrors,
and that they had better get it over and done with, and this held good
especially of Elvesdon, as the younger and less hardened. Thornhill was
speculating a