He had. There were two great holes in the dead man's ribs, where the bullets had entered. Both wounds were mortal. But, with the desperate endurance of his race, the stricken warrior had rent off fragments of his blanket and _had deliberately plugged the gaping orifices_. Then, crawling away, the fierce savage had sought out a position where he might lurk in ambush, and had found it, too. Here he lay, a broad assegai still grasped in his hand, waiting to strike one fell and fatal blow at his slayers ere death should come upon him. But death had overtaken him too quickly; and luckily, indeed, for the objects of his enmity that it had. "Why, how's this?" cried Shelton in amazement. "I could have sworn I hit him, and yet there are only two bullet holes!" "So could I," said Hoste emphatically. "Sure there are only two?" "Dead certain," replied the other, after a second investigation. "I think I can solve the mystery," cut in Eustace quietly. "You both hit, all right. The fact is, I never fired." "Never fired!" they echoed. "And why the deuce not?" "Well, you see, this very Hlangani saved my life. I might have been put down there with poor Tom, but for him. Whatever he had done I couldn't bring myself to `draw' on a fellow who had done that much for me." There was something in that, yet Eustace thought he detected a curious look pass between his two friends. But it mattered nothing. Leaving the body of the dead Gcaleka, the two climbed down from the ledge again. Further surprise was in store for them. Josane had disappeared. "He'll be back directly," said Eustace. "He said he had forgotten something." Whether it was that the sight of the dead warrior's body had inspired in him one of those unreasoning and unaccountable outbreaks of savagery to which all barbarian natures are more or less suddenly liable, or whether he had misgivings on his own account as to the completeness of his vengeance, is uncertain. But rapidly muttering: "_Au_! Ixeshane! I have not drunk enough blood. Wait here until I return," he had seized his assegai and disappeared in the direction of the pit again. Those under his guidance had no alternative but to await his return, with what patience they might. Meanwhile Josane was speeding along the gloomy tunnel, eagerly, fiercely, like a retriever on the track of a wounded partridge. His head was bent forward and his hand still grasped the broad assegai, clotted with the blood of the witch-doctress. Humming a low, ferocious song of vengeance, he gained the brink of the now empty pit. Seizing one of the lighted candles, which still burned--no one having thought it worth while to put them out--he turned his steps into the lateral gallery. A fiendish chuckle escaped him. He stopped short, threw the light in front of him, then held it over his head and looked again. Again he chuckled.