Had Hlangulu heard it, he wondered? It was of no use to go in his direction. They might miss in the darkness, pass each other within a few yards. So he elected to sit still. The rest was more than welcome. His bruised ankle was stiff and sore and inflamed. Fortunately he would soon come to where he had left his horse. Much more walking was out of the question. Time wore on. He longed to smoke, but dared not. He was still within the dangerous limits. He was just about to give the signal once more, when--a voice raised in song hardly louder than a whisper! It was Hlangulu. The eyes of the savage were sparkling with inquiry as he ran them over the white man. The latter rather ostentatiously displayed his bulged pockets, but said nothing--signing to the other to proceed. Not a word was spoken between the two as they held on through the night--and towards the small hours came upon the spot where the horse had been left concealed. A European could hardly have dissembled his curiosity as to what had happened. The Matabele, however, asked no questions, and if a quick, fleeting look across his mask-like countenance, as they took their way onward through the starlight, betrayed his feelings it was all that did. Just before dawn they turned into a secure hiding-place formed by the angle of two great boulders, walled in in front by another accidental one--to rest throughout the hours of daylight. And now a sure and certain instinct had taken hold upon Blachland, and the burden of it was that under no circumstances whatever dare he go to sleep. Once or twice he had detected a look upon the sinister race of his confederate and guide which implanted it more and more firmly within his mind. Yet, in spite of the few hours of half-unconscious doze, he was worn out for lack of rest, and there were two more nights and three whole days before he could reach home. He was feeling thoroughly done up. The fiery, gnawing pain of his swelled ankle, the strain which all that he had gone through had placed upon his nerves--combined to render him almost light-headed, yet, with it all, a marvellous instinct of self-preservation moved him to watchfulness. This could not go on. He must put it to the test one way or the other. "I think I will try to sleep a little, Hlangulu," he said. "Afterwards we can talk about what has been." "_Nkose_!" replied the Matabele, effusively, striving to quell the dark look of fierce delight which shot across his sinister countenance. Blachland lay down, drawing his blanket half over his head. The Matabele sat against a rock and smoked. Blachland watched him through his closed lids, but still Hlangulu sat and smoked. He became really sleepy. The squatting form of the savage was visible now only as through a far-away misty cloud. He dropped off.