ll. I was exhausted with toil, want of food and
sleep, and also suffering very much from the blow I had received
on my left side; it seemed as though a piece of bone or something
was slowly piercing into my lung. Poor Daylight, too, was pretty
nearly finished, and no wonder. But there was a smell of dawn
in the air, and we might not stay; better that all three of us
should die upon the road than that we should linger while there
was life in us. The air was thick and heavy, as it sometimes
is before the dawn breaks, and -- another infallible sign in
certain parts of Zu-Vendis that sunrise is at hand -- hundreds
of little spiders pendant on the end of long tough webs were
floating about in it. These early-rising creatures, or rather
their webs, caught upon the horse's and our own forms by scores,
and, as we had neither the time nor the energy to brush them
off, we rushed along covered with hundreds of long grey threads
that streamed out a yard or more behind us -- and a very strange
appearance they must have given us.

And now before us are the huge brazen gates of the outer wall
of the Frowning City, and a new and horrible doubt strikes me:
What if they will not let us in?

'_Open! open!_' I shout imperiously, at the same time giving
the royal password. '_Open! open!_ a messenger, a messenger
with tidings of the war!'

'What news?' cried the guard. 'And who art thou that ridest
so madly, and who is that whose tongue lolls out' -- and it actually
did -- 'and who runs by thee like a dog by a chariot?'

'It is the Lord Macumazahn, and with him is his dog, his black dog.
_Open! open!_ I bring tidings.'

The great gates ran back on their rollers, and the drawbridge
fell with a rattling crash, and we dashed on through the one
and over the other.

'What news, my lord, what news?' cried the guard.

'Incubu rolls Sorais back, as the wind a cloud,' I answered,
and was gone.

One more effort, gallant horse, and yet more gallant man!

So, fall not now, Daylight, and hold thy life in thee for fifteen
short minutes more, old Zulu war-dog, and ye shall both live
for ever in the annals of the land.

On, clattering through the sleeping streets. We are passing
the Flower Temple now -- one mile more, only one little mile
-- hold on, keep your life in thee, see the houses run past of
themselves. Up, good horse, up, there -- but fifty yards now.
Ah! you see your stables and stagger on gallantly.

'Thank God, the pal