the answer. "As to the waggons
these will lighten them for you."

A howl of delight went up from the listeners, who had attained to some
degree of quietude while the chief was speaking.

"Take your choice," went on the latter, seeing that they hesitated and
were rapidly conferring together. "Look at these," waving a hand over
the expectant crowd, which having already tasted blood was hungry for
more. "You may kill one or two, or even three, but you cannot kill all.
And then, no swift and easy death will yours be."

The tone of hostility underlying this frank threat, was not disguised.

"You, Laliswayo, will be the first to die."

Fleetwood's tone was sternly determined. He had covered the chief with
his rifle.

"Bid these go away," he went on. "At once, before I count ten, or the
son of Malamu shall go in search of his father. You know I never miss."

The moment was a tense one. A dead hush had fallen upon the crowd, but
the chiefs face was as unfathomable as stone. It looked as if cool,
resolute courage was going to prevail, when there befel one of those
accidents which seem almost to justify a belief in luck, good or bad.

Both men had stood up in front of the waggon box, and now Wyvern,
slightly shifting a foot, managed to lose his balance, and fall heavily
to the ground. Instinctively trying to save himself he cannoned against
Fleetwood, upsetting him too, his rifle going off as he fell--but into
the air. Quick as thought their enemies were upon them. Their weapons
were snatched from their grasp, and they were held down by the sheer
force of many powerful hands, while others fetched reims which hung
about the waggon and in a moment they were bound so tightly that they
could not move.

The roar of mingled rage and exultation that went up, as they were
dragged forth into the open, was indescribable.

"They would have killed the chief! They tried to!" were among the
exclamations of threatening fury which arose on all sides. Laliswayo
strode forward. He was a middle-aged man, tall and well-proportioned,
good-looking too after the clean-run Zulu type, and held himself with
all the dignity of his race and position.

"What was my word to you, U' Joe?" he said, his face coldly dark with
resentment. "That yours should be no swift and easy death. And now you
have tried to kill me even while we were talking together. _Hau_!"

The disgust expressed by this last exclamation evoked another wrathful