"Why, he must have come and found him asleep, and taken the rifle to keep watch for him. No, I won't wake him. We will stop here together till he comes to himself; and how it will bring his disgrace home to him!--Here, what's that?" he whispered, as he turned to catch Mak by the arm. But as he did so he felt that the faint sound he heard could be nothing alarming, for the black stood silent and unmoved. Mark realised directly, though, that he was listening with head bent forward, and he began to breathe hard as with a faint rustling sound his little black companion sprang to his side and whispered something. In an instant Mak clutched Mark by the shoulder and tapped the barrel of his piece. "Shoot, shoot!" he whispered loudly, and as the boy grasped his meaning he became aware of hurrying footsteps one of the bullocks uttered a low, excited bellow, its sleeping fellows sprang to their feet, and the boy drew trigger, the report raising the echoes that were lurking amongst the black ruins waiting to be aroused. Then he fired again, past his black companions, in the direction of the approaching steps. The bellow uttered by the ox had made Dean spring to his feet, to feel for his rifle. "This way! Come!" cried Mark, making a dash for the waggon, followed by the two blacks, all running for where the men from both waggons were snatching their arms and preparing to respond to their leader's commands. What followed was to the boys one horrible mental chaos. There were the loud yells of a strong body of savages uttering their fierce war cries, to stagger and alarm the occupants of the camp; the reports of rifles, the rush of feet, the shadowy figures of the fierce enemies, the being crushed together in a contending crowd, the eager cries of familiar voices, above all that of the doctor, giving orders which in the confusion could not be obeyed. There were harsh pantings too, blows, and the rattling made by spears against the barrels of rifles. More than once there was a raucous cry, and Mark in the wild excitement felt a strange pain through one arm, before he was trampled beneath the feet of those who were swaying to and fro fighting desperately. The last thing that seemed clear to Mark was that everything was coming to an end and he was nearly unconscious as someone cried piteously, "Oh, father! Father!" And then all was dark. CHAPTER FORTY ONE. "A BIT OFF HIS HEAD." But it was not all over. When sense and feeling began to resume their seats, Mark was lying in the forest shade, dimly conscious that the sun's rays were striking horizontally through the dark, misty shadows of some place that he had never seen before. A dull, heavy pain seemed to be pressing his head into the earth, and a sickening feeling of confusion troubled him which seemed to take the shape of one of the glorious golden rays of the sun darting and piercing him through the shoulder with the agonising pangs that accompanied fire.