"Whack! Whack!" came a couple of stones. "Whack--whack--whack!" came three more, flung hard too, and with a terrible precision. One struck Perkins on the hand, causing him to dance and swear all his fingers were broken. Another hit Jarnley on the shoulder, while two more found their billet in violent contact with another of the bullies--and there, in a gap in the hedge some little distance off, stood the one who had escaped, grinning in mingled vindictiveness and glee. Other stones followed, hurled with the same unerring precision. To proceed with their congenial work under that terrible bombardment was impossible--and so, leaving one in charge of Smithson, the gang started in pursuit of the Zulu boy. The latter chuckled, for he knew that not one of them could get any nearer to him than he chose, when it came to running. He sprang down into the road again, quickly shovelled up a double handful of stones, and loped on. Then he turned, just as the pursuers came within easy range, and opened fire again. It was too much. With dire threats they beat a retreat. They would get hold of him again sooner or later, they declared, and that time he would not get off at any price. At all of which the Zulu boy chuckled and laughed, hurling abusive epithets at them in his quaint English. The while poor Smithson, in the grasp of the big fellow who custodied him, was having a bad time, in the shape of a slight forestalment of what he might expect when the others returned. But for him, too, came relief--rescue, and it came in the shape of a couple of prefects who appeared in sight, sauntering along the field-path towards them. "You'd better let me go," he said, "or I'll call out to Street and Cluer." The other saw the force of this, and, with a threat and a sly cuff, acted upon it, and slunk away to give the alarm to the rest. Half an hour later Smithson and Anthony were forgathering under a hedge, talking over their escape. "Well, you are no end of a brick, Cetchy," said the former. "Why, they'll make you cock chief of your tribe one of these days, I should think." "Ha--ha--ha!" chuckled the other. "Jarnley hurt more'n we hurt. All of 'em hurt. Ha--ha--ha!" "Well, you got me out of it with those beasts. I say, Cetchy, old chap, I'm expecting a hamper next week, and won't we have a blow out then!" he added, in a burst of gratitude and admiration. "Hamper? What's that?" "Why, a basket of tuck. Grub, you know, from home. No end of good things." "Ha! All right," said the other with a jolly laugh. ------------------------------------------------------------------------