me way
as his own, even as Mtezani had given him to understand, why then it is
probable that Fleetwood would head in the direction he himself was
taking, to find refuge among the caves and krantzes around the spot
where the object of their search lay hidden.

The bush became somewhat dense, and more tangled. Thorns caught and
tore at his clothing, and now the voices of his pursuers, and the
ferocious deep-toned hum which they had kept up as they ran, was growing
very near. They were sure of their prey. What could a white man, and a
big and heavy one such as this, do against them as a runner? He might
keep it up for a time, but sooner or later they would come up with him,
probably utterly exhausted. He was unarmed too. So, not hurrying
themselves, they kept on at a long, steady trot--some singing snatches
of a war-song as they ran.

Wyvern gripped his short-handled knob-kerrie, wondering whether it was
not time to make a last stand before his strength should entirely leave
him. But it occurred to him that he could make simply no fight at all.
His enemies had only to keep their distance and hurl assegais at him
until they had finished him off, and that without the slightest risk to
themselves. Turning suddenly, to avoid a clump of _haak-doorn_, whose
fish-hook-like thorns would have held him powerless, or at any rate so
seriously have delayed him that he might just as well have given up the
struggle, he became aware of a small yellowish animal blundering across
his path, together with a hideous snarl just behind. To this, however,
he paid no heed His enemy now was brother man, not the beasts of the
forest. Just turning his head, however, for a glance back--he felt his
footing fail, and then--the ground gave way beneath him. Down he went,
to the bottom of what seemed a deep, covered-in _donga_.

Yes--that was it. Boughs and bushes, interlaced in thick profusion, all
but shut out the light of Heaven from above. He estimated he had fallen
a matter of over twenty feet, but the slope of the side had saved his
fall. The place was, in fact, the exact counterpart of that into which
the unfortunate Kafir had fallen with the puff-adder hanging to his leg,
at Seven Kloofs. Well, he would be utterly at the mercy of his enemies
now, and with no more facility for making a fight for it than a rat in a
trap.

Bruised, half-stunned, he lay and listened. Ah! they were coming. They
would be on him in a moment. The secr