mood grew even nastier than when
angry. _Hau_! A traitor was a coward, of course. Who was there among
them mean enough to kill such. And they made mock to look around among
each other in quest of some one; and their tone, from jeering, became
snarling, and Mtezani's life hung on a hair.

Then Mtezani rose to his feet.

"Where is there one mean enough to kill me?" he repeated, confronting
the numbers of those who threatened him. "_Whau_! Who is there _great_
enough to kill a son of Majendwa? For surely no common man may kill
such." And he threw his shield and weapons on the ground, and stood,
looking at the raging and fast thickening crowd with calm contempt.

There was a momentary stirring among the latter. Then someone was
pushed forward, a fine young warrior, fully armed. Mtezani's face
lightened and he made a move to pick up his weapons. But it was only a
momentary impulse.

"I am Tulaza, the son of Umbelini," said the chosen champion. "Now I
think we have found one great enough to kill a son of Majendwa."

Mtezani uttered a click of contempt.

"Go home, half Swazi dog," he said. "Thou art not even of the Amazulu.
Umbelini! _Whau_! Umbelini!"

This was too much. The one thus insulted hurled a heavy knob-kerrie.
In the same move of ducking to avoid it. Mtezani picked up his shield
and weapons, and then the fight began. None had any doubt as to how it
would end--for the many sons of Majendwa were of noted prowess in deeds
of arms--and as it progressed, gradually feeling went over to the other
side, for, as he had said, Mtezani was one of themselves, and in fact
many of his tribe were present, whereas the other was the son of a
refugee Swazi who had done _konza_ to Cetywayo, and had helped in the
English war. So the flapping of shields together, and the lungeing and
parrying and feinting, caused tremendous excitement among the
spectators, which rose to a perfect uproar, as Mtezani managed to beat
down his adversary's shield and at the same time deal him a crashing
blow on the head which sent him to earth like a felled log.

"It appears," said the victor, looking around, "that the one who is
great enough to kill a son of Majendwa is yet to be found."

"_Eh-he_," assented Hlabulana, who, the white, had been seated taking
snuff, while watching the fight in the capacity of calm, dispassionate
critic. A roar of applause endorsed this. The tide had turned. Nobody
wanted to kill Mtezani now.