Meanwhile Eustace, spurring for dear life, realised to the bitter full that the terrible event which, in spite of himself, he had so ardently desired, could be of no benefit to him now. For he knew that he was doomed. Nothing short of a miracle could save his life--which is to say, nothing could. The very earth seemed to grow enemies. Behind, around, in front, everywhere, those cat-like, sinuous forms sprang up as if by magic. Suddenly his bridle was seized. A mass of warriors pressed around him, assegais raised. Quick as thought he pointed his revolver at the foremost, and pressed the trigger; but the plunging of his horse nearly unseated him, and the ball whistled harmlessly over the Kafir's shoulder. At the same time a blow on the wrist knocked the weapon from his grasp. He saw the gleam of assegai points, the deadly glare of hatred in the sea of rolling eyes closing in upon him. Then a tall warrior, springing like a leopard, struck full at his heart with a large, broad-bladed assegai. It was done like lightning. The flash of the broad blade was in his eyes. The blow, delivered with all the strength of a powerful, muscular arm, descended. A hard, numbing knock on the chest, a sharp, crashing pain in the head--Eustace swayed in his saddle, and toppled heavily to the earth. And again the fierce death-shout pealed forth over the wild _veldt_, and was taken up and echoed in tones of hellish exultation from end to end of the excited barbarian host. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The night has melted into dawn; the dawn into sunrise. The first rays are just beginning to gild the tops of the great krantzes overhanging the Hashi. At the foot of one of these krantzes lies the motionless figure of a man. Dead? No, asleep. Slumbering as if he would never wake again. There is a faint rustle in the thick bush which grows right up to the foot of the krantz--a rustle as of something or somebody forcing a way through--cautiously, stealthily approaching the sleeper. The latter snores on. The bushes part, and a man steps forth. For a moment he stands, noiselessly contemplating the prostrate figure. Then he emits a low, sardonic chuckle. At the sound the sleeper springs up. In a twinkling he draws his revolver, then rubs his eyes, and bursts into a laugh. "Don't make such a row, man," warns the new arrival. "The bush may be full of niggers now, hunting for us. We are in a nice sort of a hole, whichever way you look at it." "Oh, we'll get out of it somehow," is Hoste's sanguine reply. "When we got separated last night, I didn't know whether we should ever see each other again, George. I suppose there's no chance for the other two fellows?" "Not a shadow of a chance. Both wiped out."