On the other hand if the Natal party
could be induced to cross why they would make such an example of these
Amakafula--as they contemptuously called them--that the latter, for very
shame's sake, would be only too careful to say nothing at all of the
affair.

"We leave not our land," came the answer to this after a hesitating
pause. "Cross ye hither, cowards. Ye are more than us by two."

"Ah--ah! But we shall be less by more than two when we reach the bank.
You will strike us in the water."

"We will not," called out the spokesman on the Zulu side. "You shall
even have time to recover breath. Is it not so, brothers?"

"_Eh-he_!" chorussed his followers in loud assent.

"Swear it."

"U' Tshaka!"

The awful name rolled forth sonorously from every throat. An oath
ratified on the name of the greatest king their world had ever known was
ratified indeed. Hardly had it sounded than a joyful whoop rent the
air. A dozen bronze bodies flashed in the sunlight and amid a mighty
splash a dozen dark heads bobbed up above the surface of the long deeply
flowing reach. A moment later, and their owners had ploughed their way
to the other side, and emerged streaming from the river, their shields
and weapons still held aloft in the left hand, as they had been during
the crossing in order to keep them dry.

"We will drop our weapons, and fight only with sticks, brothers,"
proposed the Zulu leader. "Is that to be?"

"As you will," returned the Natal party, and immediately all assegais
were cast to the ground.

The place was an open glade which sloped down to the water, between
high, tree-fringed rocks. Both sides stood looking at each other, every
chest panting somewhat with suppressed excitement. Then a quick, shrill
whistle from the Zulu leader, and they met in full shock.

It was something of a Homeric strife, as these young heroes came
together. There was no sound but the slap of shield meeting shield; the
clash and quiver of hard wood; the quick, throaty panting of the
combatants. Then the heavy crunch of skull or joint, and half a dozen
are down quivering or motionless, while their conquerors continue to
batter them without mercy.

Leaping, whirling--gradually drawing away from the rest, two of the
combatants are striving; each devoting every nerve, every energy, to the
overthrow of the other. But each feint is met by counter feint, each
terrible swinging stroke by the crash of equally hard wood or the du