about a mile
north-west of their outspan, figures had now come in sight--figures
running--dark figures--and now and again something gleamed. More and
more came over, and among them were more and more points that gleamed.
Fleetwood and Wyvern exchanged a word, then dived into a waggon, to
re-appear in a moment, each with a double gun and a very business-like
revolver indeed. The native boys fished out a knob-kerrie apiece from
somewhere--not that it would have been of much use, still it was some
sort of a weapon. The only one who betrayed not the smallest sign of
excitement was Hlabulana, the Zulu.

"They are running," he said--"running away. They are not running to
attack. _Wou_! _Pakati_!" he exclaimed, as one of the fugitives,
overtaken by three pursuers, fell.

And now the rout drew very near. There was little noise and no
shouting--presumably pursuers and pursued required all their wind. Then
the spectators could see that of the latter there was only one left.

He was a young man, tall and long-legged, and with head down he covered
the ground with great strides, just keeping his distance and never
looking round. Clearly he was making for the white man's protection as
his only chance, but--would the white man have the power to afford it?

Eagerly and with deepening excitement did the spectators watch the
progress of this straining chase. Ah! he is down! no, it is only a
stumble, and as he recovers himself the exultant yell changes to accents
of rage. One or two stop, and hurl assegais, but these fall short. A
hundred yards more--fifty, forty, ten, and then--the fugitive staggers
up and falls--almost into the fire--as we have seen.

The pursuit made no halt, but poured on as though to overwhelm the camp
itself.

"We can't have this, Wyvern," muttered Fleetwood uneasily. Then, in the
Zulu: "Halt. He who comes ten steps further--_drops_."

The effect was magical. This white man was known to them, known to them
too as one who in a matter of this kind might be relied upon to keep his
word. Wherefore they halted with an alacrity that was wholly
commendable. A murmur went up.

"It is Ujo!"

"That is right," briskly answered Fleetwood. "And knowing that you know
me. And knowing me, you know that any man who takes refuge in my camp
is safe: safe from anybody, as long as I am safe, this is. Now--has
anybody any inclination to try if I am safe?"

The opposing crowd consisted of young men; hot-hea