"Well, at all events," yawned Tom, "I couldn't escape at this moment if I had the chance; for I'm completely knocked up, and so are you, old fellow; and as we have only one hour--" "We had better make the most of it," Frank chimed in. "That is just what I was about to remark, Tom. We must manage to take rest whenever we can, for we shall require all our strength and vigour--mental and physical--if we want to give our guards the slip, and find our way back to the colony." It was about mid-day when our two friends lay down to snatch a hasty repose after their toilsome journey; but when Frank Jamieson awoke he found to his intense surprise that the sun had sunk below the horizon, and darkness was rapidly setting in. Tom Flinders was still asleep by his side, and round them were gathered the five Caffres, apparently also asleep--two of them face downwards, with their woolly heads buried in their arms, the other three stretched on the broad of their backs. "Halloa!--why, it is nearly dark!" exclaimed Frank, sitting up and rubbing his eyes to make sure that he was quite awake. "We must have been sleeping considerably longer than an hour! Or is it possible that I have been dreaming?" was his mental question; but his bare limbs and swollen, bleeding feet were convincing proofs to the contrary. "Tom-- Tom Flinders," he then whispered, bending over his friend and gently shaking him. "What's the row?" cried Tom, waking up with a start. "H'sh," whispered Frank; "don't make a noise! Waishlahla and his men have overslept themselves, and if we mean to make a dash for freedom, it must be now or never! We shall not get such a chance again." "I'm game," Tom answered. "But we had better secure their weapons first, especially the chief's gun." "Leave that to me," said his companion, as he crept cautiously up to the recumbent figure of Waishlahla, with the intention of taking possession of his "roer." The savage chief lay flat on his back, with his brawny arms extended over his head; and when Frank leaned over him he saw that his jaw had dropped, and that his eyes were wide open and staring. But there "was no speculation in those eyes"--for Waishlahla was stone dead! In an instant it flashed across Frank's mind what had happened. "He must have taken the chloroform!" he exclaimed. "I left the bottle in the pocket of my blouse." "What?" cried Tom, looking over his shoulder, "you don't mean that!" "There cannot be a doubt about it," said the other. "See, the man is quite stiff and cold; he must have been dead four or five hours." "Then, depend upon it, they're all in the same boat!" And such proved to be the case. Waishlahla had found the bottle of chloroform in the pocket of Frank Jamieson's blouse, and he and his comrades had drank the whole of the contents--about eight ounces--between them, with, of course, fatal results.