Chapter Thirty.

Chapter Thirty.The Place of the Eye.Some minutes they remained helpless in that perilous position, then Laura aroused, but at the deep silence—significant of, perhaps, more disaster—she cried out, frightened.Hume muttered some inarticulate reply.“Oh, let us get away from here,” she said, almost in a whisper. “The precipice so near seems to draw me to it, and in every breath of wind I hear a stealthy footstep.”“Yes, let us go,” he said in a low voice, trying to keep his agony from her knowledge. “Keep your left hand against the rock, and tread firmly. Sirayo!”“My strength has returned,” answered the chief, though he still breathed heavily. “Pass by, and I will follow,” and there was a movement as he edged to the brink of the krantz.“I will go first,” said Hume; “follow me closely, Laura;” and setting his teeth so that no groan should escape, he groped his way along. She came fearfully behind, catching her breath now and again, and Sirayo followed.Now that the excitement, which had supported them before, had died away, the return along that giddy height, with no other guide than the sense of touch, was full of terrors, and these increased in the slow and hesitating advance. If she had known that the one who led was blind, that at times he almost reeled through pain, she must inevitably have broken down; but Hume forced himself to the task with a desperate resolve.At last he felt the ridge made by the eye, and climbing up, helped her to ascend, then asked her if she could go on to the cave; then, as she went on, he sat with his head bowed on his hands.“What is it, friend?” asked Sirayo, as he, in his turn, reached the place.“I am blind, chief, blind!” was the bitter reply.“Yoh!” and, overcome by the terrible nature of the injury the Zulu remained dumb.“Say nothing to her, for it will soon be morning, and she must stand in the eye and watch. Bind this handkerchief about my eyes.”“I cannot—my arm is broken; but I will send Klaas with water. It is bad—this thing that has happened. It would have been better had you let me go out on the ledge.”“And your arm is broken,” muttered Hume. “We owe our lives to her, and the mountain is slipping away.”Sirayo caught him, and laid him in a corner of the rock, then went down rapidly to the cave, where he called to Klaas.“Where is he?” asked Laura.“He is tired; moreover, he says the morning is near at hand, when you will stand in the place above.”“To see the Golden Rock,” she murmured. “At last; but at what cost of suffering!”“What do you say about the rock?” asked Webster, sitting up suddenly.“Are you better?” she asked gently.“Ay, except that my head feels strangely light. Where is Hume?”“He has been watching through the night, and is still out on the ledge.”“Good fellow. I will take his watch when I am well.” And with a sigh he sank back on to the couch to sleep again.A faint smile hovered about her lips, then she bound Sirayo’s damaged arm, and at last, drawing her blanket over her, she sank into a profound slumber.On the rock above, Klaas put a bandage round his master’s injured eyes, gave him water, and made a pillow for his head. Sirayo went out on the ledge again to keep watch, bearing his injury with stoic indifference, and grimly bent on doing his duty.“Sit with your face to the sunrise, Klaas,” whispered Hume, “and when you see the sky turn red bring your mistress here.”“Eweh, my master.”So they sat in the darkness and silence deep and brooding.“Do you sleep, Klaas?”“Neh, sieur.”“I feel the touch of the morning wind.”“The stars are white, all but one that shines red.”“The morning star. The sun will soon be up. Are the clouds rising, do you think?”“The sky shines like the eye of a pool when the moon looks on it.”“And the mist; look below.”“It is black below, sieur.”The minutes went slowly by.“It must be time,” he muttered. “What noise is that?”“Birds flying over. They smell the morning; and the buck will now take his stand at the edge of the kloof, to catch the first warmth of the sun. Ayi; the red line spreads along the sky.”“Call your mistress!” Hume cried. “The moment is at hand!” he murmured; “and I—I will not see this wonder.”Presently she came and stood by him.“I am here, Frank.”“Stand in the opening above, with your face to the west, and look below to your right. At the first ray of the sun you should see the light on the Golden Rock.”“Am I to stand there alone,” she said, “at this moment we have looked forward to so intently?”“Where is Webster?” he asked impatiently.“He is still weak and asleep. And you, Frank—I can see you have been wounded.”“For Heaven’s sake!” he said, almost fiercely, “take your stand there. I am all right, but knocked up.”She sighed, and stepped into the embrasure, and stood there waiting, with an oppression at her heart that robbed the moment of all its expected joy. The two natives sat near, calm and unmoved, perhaps marvelling at the strange ways of these restless white people.“What do you see?” asked Hume anxiously, to make her talk, so that she should not hear him moan with the pain he suffered.“I see the rocks on my right, the outlines of the mountains beyond, a tremulous light around, but below it is jet black. No—there is a faint luminous track winding through the blackness.”“That is the layer of mist over the river.”“There is a glow on the summits of the distant mountains; and, oh! above me, on the rocks, there is the reflection as from fire. It is the sunlight streaming, and it stretches out, fan-shaped, pouring its radiance down into the darkness in countless quivering threads of silver.”“Follow that gleam,” he cried; “don’t let your gaze wander.”“It is shivered by a projecting rock on the mountain side,” she continued; “but the centre broadens out and flows on deeper and deeper, the darkness flying before it, and now there is a lake lying far below; no, it is land, I think—rolling prairie, and oh!”“What—what?”“Come and look at this—a gleaming spot far off, that glows like the heart of a furnace. Give me your hand.”“No; I am tired. Laura, that is the rock; look well at it.”“Is that the rock? it glows, it flashes back the light. There is a pale radiance that quivers above and around, and a wide belt of purple about its base—a belt of colour that widens, contracts, and coils upon itself. Purple—no, it is not purple; it is like a band of opal; now ’tis red, blood-red,” and her voice sank to an awed whisper, “and the yellow flame above shines wonderfully.”“Mawoh,” muttered Klaas.“Well, what now?”“It is gone—faded!” And she stood looking below her with wide-opened eyes and parted lips, and a glow of colour in her cheeks. “Frank, it was such a sight I saw when we were on the mid-Atlantic.”“And has it repaid you for all you have suffered?” he asked.“Repaid me; it was beautiful! But it has not repaid me, and will not till I stand beside the rock itself.”“That cannot be,” he said in low tones.“And why?” she asked, still looking away.“Webster is ill.”“He is rapidly recovering, I am sure; and the news that we have seen the Golden Rock will restore him.”“Then Sirayo is wounded.”“His arm is bruised, not broken; and then we have you.”“But,” he said, “I am blind!” and the long restraint he had put upon himself giving way, he flung his hands out before him with a groan of bitter disappointment.“Blind!” she murmured, “blind!” and sinking beside him, she caught his hands in a convulsive grasp, and looked into his drawn and bandaged face. “Oh, Frank! why did not you tell me of this before? How did it happen? But never mind now; let me lead you to the cave. Blind! and out on that fearful ledge.”“Yes,” he said, with a ghastly smile; “lead me to the hospital.”“Hullo!” shouted Webster, as they approached the opening, “I thought you had left me, cast me adrift without compass or food, and I have a most extravagant appetite. Don’t look so downcast; I assure you I am quite well. Why, what is it?”“You see, I am crippled, Jim, disabled, helpless, worse than useless.”“Lad, I don’t believe it;” and rising, Webster stepped to Hume’s side, took his hand, then, as he caught the signs of suffering, he gently pressed him to the couch, while Laura leant against the rock with her hands before her face, her courage gone at last.“Hurt, while I have been lying here like a log. Well, it is my turn to help now. Let us look at it.” Gently he drew away the roughly-tied bandage, and caught his breath at what he saw. He looked quickly over his shoulder. “Laura, tell Klaas to get some water.” She went out slowly, and he examined the injury. The upper part of Hume’s face was blackened, the eyelashes and eyebrows burnt off, the eyelids glued to the cheeks. “Poor lad!” he muttered. “She must not see this.”“Is it so bad; will I ever see again, Jim?”“Ay, man, that you will! I have seen a worse case mend within a week with the proper treatment. Laura, you look worn—lie down and rest. This is my case. Klaas, bring water and some clean damp moss.”Klaas quickly returned, and Webster began, with a gentle touch, to moisten the eyelids.Hume caught him by the wrists.“Leave me alone—it’s torture.”“Good—the powder has pierced the lids, and what you feel is the grit on the eyeballs,” and he went on sponging. “The upper part of your face is a colourable imitation of Klaas’s.”“Jim, don’t be so cruel.”“Oblige me by going to sleep, young lady. Now for the damp moss,” and, picking out all the coarse stuff, he placed a portion over each eye, and tied the bandage. “Now, take this brandy, and keep quiet.” Then, in singular contradiction to his own words, he burst out: “How the devil did this happen?”An hour after he sponged the eyes again, and continued at lesser intervals throughout the morning, heedless of his patient’s terrible sufferings.“I’ll tell you what,” he said, as though with a sudden inspiration, “we’ll get back to the river, and drift down to the coast on a raft; the rest will do us all good.”“Yes,” she said; “let us go quickly; I have lost all desire to see the rock.”Sirayo’s form darkened the opening.“What!” almost shouted Webster, “are you wounded, too?”“The people are moving down below,” said the chief; “the same we fought, and there are others gathering beyond the river. I think they will fight.”“Which way do the Zulus move?” asked Hume, sitting up.“Away towards the shining place from the spot where we saw the fires burn last night.”“Are there many of the other people?”“Ay, they outnumber the Zulus, but they are not eager for the fight. Maybe they have already been attacked.”“We will descend, then!”“Descend!” asked Laura, bewildered.“Yes; don’t you see,” he continued quickly, though his lips trembled at the pain, “this is our chance? If there is to be a fight our help may decide the day, and instead of being opposed by the people of the valley, they would assist us in return for our support. Don’t you see that, Jim?”“No, I don’t. I know nothing of the people of the valley, and it will be folly now to continue.”“You must not,” cried Laura; “you are not fit to face fresh dangers.”“I have brought you thus far,” he replied doggedly, “now you must take me down. I swear if you do not I will not budge from here. Let us pack up and go while there is still light, for the day must be far advanced.”In vain they tried to persuade him, but opposition only made him the more stubborn, and after noon they began the long and perilous descent. Klaas, as being the most active, went ahead; Sirayo followed, then Laura, Hume, and Webster, with rheims connecting them. Of necessity their advance was slow, but after they had passed over the scene of the night’s conflicts, with its stains of blood, and rounded the projecting rock, they struck the top of a ravine, down which the way was safer, though more difficult to traverse because of the loose shale. From the ledge they saw a body of Zulus marching on one side of the valley, while beyond the river a larger body was massed inside a wide military kraal. After many a rest they arrived safely near the bottom, and, waiting until Klaas, who had been sent on to scout, returned with a favourable report, they reached the valley near sunset.

Some minutes they remained helpless in that perilous position, then Laura aroused, but at the deep silence—significant of, perhaps, more disaster—she cried out, frightened.

Hume muttered some inarticulate reply.

“Oh, let us get away from here,” she said, almost in a whisper. “The precipice so near seems to draw me to it, and in every breath of wind I hear a stealthy footstep.”

“Yes, let us go,” he said in a low voice, trying to keep his agony from her knowledge. “Keep your left hand against the rock, and tread firmly. Sirayo!”

“My strength has returned,” answered the chief, though he still breathed heavily. “Pass by, and I will follow,” and there was a movement as he edged to the brink of the krantz.

“I will go first,” said Hume; “follow me closely, Laura;” and setting his teeth so that no groan should escape, he groped his way along. She came fearfully behind, catching her breath now and again, and Sirayo followed.

Now that the excitement, which had supported them before, had died away, the return along that giddy height, with no other guide than the sense of touch, was full of terrors, and these increased in the slow and hesitating advance. If she had known that the one who led was blind, that at times he almost reeled through pain, she must inevitably have broken down; but Hume forced himself to the task with a desperate resolve.

At last he felt the ridge made by the eye, and climbing up, helped her to ascend, then asked her if she could go on to the cave; then, as she went on, he sat with his head bowed on his hands.

“What is it, friend?” asked Sirayo, as he, in his turn, reached the place.

“I am blind, chief, blind!” was the bitter reply.

“Yoh!” and, overcome by the terrible nature of the injury the Zulu remained dumb.

“Say nothing to her, for it will soon be morning, and she must stand in the eye and watch. Bind this handkerchief about my eyes.”

“I cannot—my arm is broken; but I will send Klaas with water. It is bad—this thing that has happened. It would have been better had you let me go out on the ledge.”

“And your arm is broken,” muttered Hume. “We owe our lives to her, and the mountain is slipping away.”

Sirayo caught him, and laid him in a corner of the rock, then went down rapidly to the cave, where he called to Klaas.

“Where is he?” asked Laura.

“He is tired; moreover, he says the morning is near at hand, when you will stand in the place above.”

“To see the Golden Rock,” she murmured. “At last; but at what cost of suffering!”

“What do you say about the rock?” asked Webster, sitting up suddenly.

“Are you better?” she asked gently.

“Ay, except that my head feels strangely light. Where is Hume?”

“He has been watching through the night, and is still out on the ledge.”

“Good fellow. I will take his watch when I am well.” And with a sigh he sank back on to the couch to sleep again.

A faint smile hovered about her lips, then she bound Sirayo’s damaged arm, and at last, drawing her blanket over her, she sank into a profound slumber.

On the rock above, Klaas put a bandage round his master’s injured eyes, gave him water, and made a pillow for his head. Sirayo went out on the ledge again to keep watch, bearing his injury with stoic indifference, and grimly bent on doing his duty.

“Sit with your face to the sunrise, Klaas,” whispered Hume, “and when you see the sky turn red bring your mistress here.”

“Eweh, my master.”

So they sat in the darkness and silence deep and brooding.

“Do you sleep, Klaas?”

“Neh, sieur.”

“I feel the touch of the morning wind.”

“The stars are white, all but one that shines red.”

“The morning star. The sun will soon be up. Are the clouds rising, do you think?”

“The sky shines like the eye of a pool when the moon looks on it.”

“And the mist; look below.”

“It is black below, sieur.”

The minutes went slowly by.

“It must be time,” he muttered. “What noise is that?”

“Birds flying over. They smell the morning; and the buck will now take his stand at the edge of the kloof, to catch the first warmth of the sun. Ayi; the red line spreads along the sky.”

“Call your mistress!” Hume cried. “The moment is at hand!” he murmured; “and I—I will not see this wonder.”

Presently she came and stood by him.

“I am here, Frank.”

“Stand in the opening above, with your face to the west, and look below to your right. At the first ray of the sun you should see the light on the Golden Rock.”

“Am I to stand there alone,” she said, “at this moment we have looked forward to so intently?”

“Where is Webster?” he asked impatiently.

“He is still weak and asleep. And you, Frank—I can see you have been wounded.”

“For Heaven’s sake!” he said, almost fiercely, “take your stand there. I am all right, but knocked up.”

She sighed, and stepped into the embrasure, and stood there waiting, with an oppression at her heart that robbed the moment of all its expected joy. The two natives sat near, calm and unmoved, perhaps marvelling at the strange ways of these restless white people.

“What do you see?” asked Hume anxiously, to make her talk, so that she should not hear him moan with the pain he suffered.

“I see the rocks on my right, the outlines of the mountains beyond, a tremulous light around, but below it is jet black. No—there is a faint luminous track winding through the blackness.”

“That is the layer of mist over the river.”

“There is a glow on the summits of the distant mountains; and, oh! above me, on the rocks, there is the reflection as from fire. It is the sunlight streaming, and it stretches out, fan-shaped, pouring its radiance down into the darkness in countless quivering threads of silver.”

“Follow that gleam,” he cried; “don’t let your gaze wander.”

“It is shivered by a projecting rock on the mountain side,” she continued; “but the centre broadens out and flows on deeper and deeper, the darkness flying before it, and now there is a lake lying far below; no, it is land, I think—rolling prairie, and oh!”

“What—what?”

“Come and look at this—a gleaming spot far off, that glows like the heart of a furnace. Give me your hand.”

“No; I am tired. Laura, that is the rock; look well at it.”

“Is that the rock? it glows, it flashes back the light. There is a pale radiance that quivers above and around, and a wide belt of purple about its base—a belt of colour that widens, contracts, and coils upon itself. Purple—no, it is not purple; it is like a band of opal; now ’tis red, blood-red,” and her voice sank to an awed whisper, “and the yellow flame above shines wonderfully.”

“Mawoh,” muttered Klaas.

“Well, what now?”

“It is gone—faded!” And she stood looking below her with wide-opened eyes and parted lips, and a glow of colour in her cheeks. “Frank, it was such a sight I saw when we were on the mid-Atlantic.”

“And has it repaid you for all you have suffered?” he asked.

“Repaid me; it was beautiful! But it has not repaid me, and will not till I stand beside the rock itself.”

“That cannot be,” he said in low tones.

“And why?” she asked, still looking away.

“Webster is ill.”

“He is rapidly recovering, I am sure; and the news that we have seen the Golden Rock will restore him.”

“Then Sirayo is wounded.”

“His arm is bruised, not broken; and then we have you.”

“But,” he said, “I am blind!” and the long restraint he had put upon himself giving way, he flung his hands out before him with a groan of bitter disappointment.

“Blind!” she murmured, “blind!” and sinking beside him, she caught his hands in a convulsive grasp, and looked into his drawn and bandaged face. “Oh, Frank! why did not you tell me of this before? How did it happen? But never mind now; let me lead you to the cave. Blind! and out on that fearful ledge.”

“Yes,” he said, with a ghastly smile; “lead me to the hospital.”

“Hullo!” shouted Webster, as they approached the opening, “I thought you had left me, cast me adrift without compass or food, and I have a most extravagant appetite. Don’t look so downcast; I assure you I am quite well. Why, what is it?”

“You see, I am crippled, Jim, disabled, helpless, worse than useless.”

“Lad, I don’t believe it;” and rising, Webster stepped to Hume’s side, took his hand, then, as he caught the signs of suffering, he gently pressed him to the couch, while Laura leant against the rock with her hands before her face, her courage gone at last.

“Hurt, while I have been lying here like a log. Well, it is my turn to help now. Let us look at it.” Gently he drew away the roughly-tied bandage, and caught his breath at what he saw. He looked quickly over his shoulder. “Laura, tell Klaas to get some water.” She went out slowly, and he examined the injury. The upper part of Hume’s face was blackened, the eyelashes and eyebrows burnt off, the eyelids glued to the cheeks. “Poor lad!” he muttered. “She must not see this.”

“Is it so bad; will I ever see again, Jim?”

“Ay, man, that you will! I have seen a worse case mend within a week with the proper treatment. Laura, you look worn—lie down and rest. This is my case. Klaas, bring water and some clean damp moss.”

Klaas quickly returned, and Webster began, with a gentle touch, to moisten the eyelids.

Hume caught him by the wrists.

“Leave me alone—it’s torture.”

“Good—the powder has pierced the lids, and what you feel is the grit on the eyeballs,” and he went on sponging. “The upper part of your face is a colourable imitation of Klaas’s.”

“Jim, don’t be so cruel.”

“Oblige me by going to sleep, young lady. Now for the damp moss,” and, picking out all the coarse stuff, he placed a portion over each eye, and tied the bandage. “Now, take this brandy, and keep quiet.” Then, in singular contradiction to his own words, he burst out: “How the devil did this happen?”

An hour after he sponged the eyes again, and continued at lesser intervals throughout the morning, heedless of his patient’s terrible sufferings.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, as though with a sudden inspiration, “we’ll get back to the river, and drift down to the coast on a raft; the rest will do us all good.”

“Yes,” she said; “let us go quickly; I have lost all desire to see the rock.”

Sirayo’s form darkened the opening.

“What!” almost shouted Webster, “are you wounded, too?”

“The people are moving down below,” said the chief; “the same we fought, and there are others gathering beyond the river. I think they will fight.”

“Which way do the Zulus move?” asked Hume, sitting up.

“Away towards the shining place from the spot where we saw the fires burn last night.”

“Are there many of the other people?”

“Ay, they outnumber the Zulus, but they are not eager for the fight. Maybe they have already been attacked.”

“We will descend, then!”

“Descend!” asked Laura, bewildered.

“Yes; don’t you see,” he continued quickly, though his lips trembled at the pain, “this is our chance? If there is to be a fight our help may decide the day, and instead of being opposed by the people of the valley, they would assist us in return for our support. Don’t you see that, Jim?”

“No, I don’t. I know nothing of the people of the valley, and it will be folly now to continue.”

“You must not,” cried Laura; “you are not fit to face fresh dangers.”

“I have brought you thus far,” he replied doggedly, “now you must take me down. I swear if you do not I will not budge from here. Let us pack up and go while there is still light, for the day must be far advanced.”

In vain they tried to persuade him, but opposition only made him the more stubborn, and after noon they began the long and perilous descent. Klaas, as being the most active, went ahead; Sirayo followed, then Laura, Hume, and Webster, with rheims connecting them. Of necessity their advance was slow, but after they had passed over the scene of the night’s conflicts, with its stains of blood, and rounded the projecting rock, they struck the top of a ravine, down which the way was safer, though more difficult to traverse because of the loose shale. From the ledge they saw a body of Zulus marching on one side of the valley, while beyond the river a larger body was massed inside a wide military kraal. After many a rest they arrived safely near the bottom, and, waiting until Klaas, who had been sent on to scout, returned with a favourable report, they reached the valley near sunset.

Chapter Thirty One.A Strange Awakening.Immediately before them rose a conspicuous mound, which they believed to be the ruins marked on the map, and though, from the fires still smouldering near, they knew the Zulus had camped there, they rapidly determined it was the best position for them to hold. Quickly, therefore, they struck across and found themselves under a broken bush-covered wall, which surrounded an irregular mass of masonry, out of which rose a crown of foliage. They walked round seeking for an inlet, and stepped off the circumference at one hundred and fifty yards. On the south, where the wall was intact, it rose to a height of ten feet, and appeared to be of great thickness, and, though at other points it was lower, there was a continuous natural fence of stiff brushwood, showing no entrance anywhere. They saw, too, from the ring of fires, that the Zulus had camped quite a hundred yards from the ruins at a spot where a spring of clear water bubbled from a belt of rushes.“It would not be safe to camp out here,” said Webster; “and if there is no inlet to this place there is no reason why we should not climb over the outer wall.” He very quickly mounted to the top, and, springing down, disappeared. “Come on,” he cried presently; “there is good shelter in here and a clean floor, in the very centre of winding passages.”Very soon they were all on the wall, and Webster led them along a narrow passage, which coiled round and round between heavy walls to an inner chamber, whose floor was covered with sand.It seemed so retired, was so silent, that in security they placed no guard, they made no fire, neither did they talk; but stretched themselves on the sand and slept, and the sky was blue above them when they opened their eyes again.Yet weariness weighed upon their lids, their limbs were heavy, and the morning air was charged with a sweet odour that seemed to lull the senses.Slowly they opened their eyes, blinked at the strong light, closed them again, without any feeling of surprise that they had slept so long, then remained still, listening idly. They heard, afar off, the drowsy war-song of the Zulu warriors; but it was a sound detached from their surroundings that no longer moved them. They did not ask themselves where they were nor why. A strange relaxation of mind and body had overcome them—the reaction possibly from the fierce impulse which had impelled them on in face of all danger. Constant anxiety, want of sleep, and poor food had worn them out. Was that the explanation of their stupor, or did it arise from some other source—that faint and subtle odour that recalled to Laura, at least, the swinging of a censer in some dimly-lighted aisle? She saw the shadowy figures of priests moving softly to and fro, the forms of women kneeling, and involuntarily there broke from her lips, in a tremulous whisper, the petition, “Ave Maria.”Webster stirred, and muttered with a yawn:“Eight bells, and my watch; a calm sea, and a bright night.”“Eh!” said Hume; “what’s the matter with my eyes? I cannot open them.”“We’re bewitched!” shouted Klaas.They sat up, and then with a cry of fear and amazement looked at each other. They were bound hand and foot!Bound with the very rheims which they had used to secure their packs, their weapons removed, and all their belongings. And yet not one of them had felt the slightest touch, or heard the faintest movement of their enemies, neither was there anyone visible beyond themselves.The room was about ten feet square, its roof opened to the sky, the walls covered with the shining leaves and twisted tendrils of the wild vine.“What is the matter?” asked Hume, struggling wildly to free his hands.“Heaven knows!” muttered Webster, staring helplessly at his bonds.“And to be bound like this!” cried Hume, in fierce and bitter despair. “Sirayo, what do you say?”There were beads of sweat on the chief’s forehead, for his bruised arm had been torn from the sling and tightly bound, while his fingers trembled with the pain.“It is true, we have been bewitched,” he said hoarsely, “for I felt no one touch me, even though they bound my wounded arm.”“Laura, are you also bound?”“Yes,” she whispered.Webster struggled to free himself, then rolled over until with his fingers he could touch her cold hand.“This is awful,” muttered Hume. “Can’t you see any spoor?”“No,” growled Webster; “the sand has been kicked up, but I can see no footmarks.”For many minutes they stared at each other with wild eyes, then making a frantic effort, Webster rose to his feet, swayed about a moment, then, in a series of jumps, reached the opening, where he steadied himself. “Good heavens!” he gasped.They all heard his cry with a feeling of something terrible impending.“What now?” cried Hume.“Nothing,” came the faint reply, “but the tightening of the ropes;” but when he turned, his face was ghastly white, and there was a look of horror in his eyes.Slowly he shuffled to his former place, then turned his head to watch the opening, while his breath came quickly.“You have seen something,” she whispered, with her eyes fixed on the opening.“No,” he said; “there is no one there. Laura, can you move up against the far end of the wall? You will be in the shade there. Try, please.”She slowly crept to the wall, then Hume was asked to join her, and, with a deep groan at his weakness, he did so. Then Webster, with a sigh of relief, sat with his back to them, and his face to the opening, and there came into his eyes that same look of horror. The two warriors saw his fixed gaze, caught, too, the fear in it, and their eyes were fastened on the opening.“Why don’t you talk,” said Hume, “and tell me what you see; the size of the room, its appearance, anything to relieve this darkness and suspense.”“Be still,” muttered Webster, in hollow tones.Hume suppressed the fierce retort that rose to his lips, and the others sat staring at the opening, finding in this new suggestion of unknown danger a fear which quenched the speculation about the mysterious nature of their bondage. So they sat on, while from beyond there came to them a confused sound of shouting, while the sunlight streamed in in a white light, and the broad leaves of the vine rustled softly, and imagination working on their fears kept their senses on the rack. The air grew closer, their lips were parched, and the sweet odour in the heavy air oppressed their breathing.“Speak,” whispered Laura, moistening her lips.“Yes, for God’s sake break this silence! It is worse than death;” and Hume rolled impatiently from side to side.“Yes,” muttered Webster; “it is terrible, this waiting. Shall we talk of the Golden Rock?”“No, no,” she cried, with a shudder.“I remember once,” he resumed slowly, “when on the sea—shall I ever feel the touch of the salt breeze again?—the look-out reported the sea-serpent ahead, and, sure enough, we saw the gleaming curves of his body. I recall well how we all grouped forward till the captain gruffly dusted us for a lot of swabs, though he himself had kept his eye glued to his glass. The sea-serpent proved to be a floating mast with a trailing mass of rope and a dead body caught in the raffle.”Laura laughed hysterically.“A pleasant story,” said Hume savagely.“Man, I can’t think of a joke; my brain revolts from the effort. Why were serpents created footless, stealthy, lidless, implacable—the living embodiment of cunning, their very presence—” He stopped short, and the hairs of his moustache bristled. “It comes,” he whispered. “There! there!”Spellbound, they gazed at something that flickered in the opening at a height of about three feet from the ground, something strange, black, supple, that quivered in the air like a thin flame of fire, insignificant in size, yet suggestive in its lightning play of something terrible. Scarcely breathing, they waited for what was to follow, and in a moment found themselves looking into the unwinking eyes of a huge serpent. The long head and about two feet of the muscular neck alone showed, held high above the ground, and remaining there fixed as if cast in bronze. The sunlight pouring on the large scales made them glow like bits of burnished metal in tints of blue and yellow, while a greenish light smouldered in the unwinking eyes. In the actual size of the head there was nothing alarming. It was no bigger than a man’s hand, with the thumb bent in, the fingers extended, and the knuckles arched, while the neck was no thicker than a man’s wrist. A strong man might grasp it by the neck and strangle it—so Webster thought—but the eyes—ah! in their fixed, impenetrable stare, there was the suggestion of unknown power and mysterious force. Suddenly the forked tongue darted out from the aperture in the grim jaws, quivered rapidly, and then the head was withdrawn.“Thank God!” murmured Webster.With a faint cry, Laura fainted away, and was mercifully spared the fresh trial.“Ah! heavens! Again!” whispered Webster, while, with an awful cry, the Gaika wriggled back to the far end of the room, and turned his face to the wall.Suddenly the snake darted its head along the floor, and the body poured in with a swift and silent motion, the muscles standing out in a ridge along its swelling bulk. Half-way it reached across the floor in that swift dart; then its head and neck curved back, and the body was bent like a huge S to permit the fatal strike at its destined victim.“I can feel there is something awful in the room,” said Hume, in hollow tones; “tell me what!”Webster gulped down a lump in his throat. “A snake!” he gasped, and his eyes, wild and starting, were held as in a spell. He was the nearer, for Sirayo had shrunk against the wall at the side. This thing he felt could only take one. He was to be that one. Well, all right; he would not see Laura die.Then he went through an ordeal that nearly shook his reason. The snake moved its head from side to side, and his head moved also. The tongue darted out, and his lips quivered. The head was suddenly uplifted, and he staggered to his feet. He began to laugh—foolishly—and his features twitched horribly. His body swayed to and fro, and, with an inarticulate cry he fell forward, his outstretched hands striking against the cold scales. With a loud hiss the reptile darted forward till its head rested on Laura’s insensible body, and its coils gathered upon Webster’s. So it remained a minute, then the head was reared against the wall, the leaves rustled to the strange, flowing movement of the heavy coils, the tail presently slithered over the sand, went up the wall, and disappeared.Sirayo followed it with bloodshot eyes, looked a moment at the entrance to see if some new horror were in store, looked at the motionless figures about him, then shouted in Zulu: “It is gone; wake up!”As if in response to his shout, a low music broke out, thin and monotonous, the strains from a native bow, and gradually, as each one of the helpless band revived, they listened with intense relief to these signs of human presence. In the grim silence of that room they had begun to think that there was something magical in the manner of their capture, and they would have welcomed any foe in human form rather than think of another visit from the python.The monotonous strain rose and fell on the heavy air, a sickly vapour sifted in through the cracks in the wall, suspense gave way before the torture of thirst which suddenly assailed them, and Klaas shouted out to the unseen foes to come and kill him. The music rose to a wail as if in mockery, then receded, grew fainter, died away, was heard again from another point, grew nearer, retreated again, until even Sirayo’s iron nerves broke down under the irritation as he shouted hoarsely.Suddenly, without sound or notice, the passage was darkened by the form of an old woman, black and withered. She looked at the prostrate captives with a mingling of fear and rage, but they looked not at her, but at a calabash poised on her head, on which glittered a few precious drops of water. Was this to be another mode of torture? No, she moved timidly forward, lifted her calabash from her head, while they followed her movements with glittering eyes, then shot a cooling stream into each mouth gaping wide to receive it. Then the old witch stood there talking passionately, stretching her skinny arms, pointing now to the passage, then at the broad trail of the python.“Silence,” said Sirayo, “bring someone here who can listen as well as talk.”She shook her lean hand in his face until the bones cracked, then shuffled out, still shrilly grumbling.“I am past all feeling of curiosity,” groaned Webster, as his eyes shifted uneasily round the room; “but I should like to know two things: why that old woman has been cursing us after giving us water, and what became of the snake.” He turned his head to scan the wall. “I have a strange feeling in my bones,” he said with a shudder, “that those evil eyes are still fixed upon me!”Laura shuddered, too, violently, and her dark eyes, looking unnaturally large and bright, glanced about restlessly. “I hope this will soon end,” she whispered.“Good God!” groaned Hume; “if I could only see!”They lapsed once more into silence, and listened again to the wailing of the native instrument, heard a sudden outbreak, the sharp crack of rifles, the shouts of men, the wild din of battle.

Immediately before them rose a conspicuous mound, which they believed to be the ruins marked on the map, and though, from the fires still smouldering near, they knew the Zulus had camped there, they rapidly determined it was the best position for them to hold. Quickly, therefore, they struck across and found themselves under a broken bush-covered wall, which surrounded an irregular mass of masonry, out of which rose a crown of foliage. They walked round seeking for an inlet, and stepped off the circumference at one hundred and fifty yards. On the south, where the wall was intact, it rose to a height of ten feet, and appeared to be of great thickness, and, though at other points it was lower, there was a continuous natural fence of stiff brushwood, showing no entrance anywhere. They saw, too, from the ring of fires, that the Zulus had camped quite a hundred yards from the ruins at a spot where a spring of clear water bubbled from a belt of rushes.

“It would not be safe to camp out here,” said Webster; “and if there is no inlet to this place there is no reason why we should not climb over the outer wall.” He very quickly mounted to the top, and, springing down, disappeared. “Come on,” he cried presently; “there is good shelter in here and a clean floor, in the very centre of winding passages.”

Very soon they were all on the wall, and Webster led them along a narrow passage, which coiled round and round between heavy walls to an inner chamber, whose floor was covered with sand.

It seemed so retired, was so silent, that in security they placed no guard, they made no fire, neither did they talk; but stretched themselves on the sand and slept, and the sky was blue above them when they opened their eyes again.

Yet weariness weighed upon their lids, their limbs were heavy, and the morning air was charged with a sweet odour that seemed to lull the senses.

Slowly they opened their eyes, blinked at the strong light, closed them again, without any feeling of surprise that they had slept so long, then remained still, listening idly. They heard, afar off, the drowsy war-song of the Zulu warriors; but it was a sound detached from their surroundings that no longer moved them. They did not ask themselves where they were nor why. A strange relaxation of mind and body had overcome them—the reaction possibly from the fierce impulse which had impelled them on in face of all danger. Constant anxiety, want of sleep, and poor food had worn them out. Was that the explanation of their stupor, or did it arise from some other source—that faint and subtle odour that recalled to Laura, at least, the swinging of a censer in some dimly-lighted aisle? She saw the shadowy figures of priests moving softly to and fro, the forms of women kneeling, and involuntarily there broke from her lips, in a tremulous whisper, the petition, “Ave Maria.”

Webster stirred, and muttered with a yawn:

“Eight bells, and my watch; a calm sea, and a bright night.”

“Eh!” said Hume; “what’s the matter with my eyes? I cannot open them.”

“We’re bewitched!” shouted Klaas.

They sat up, and then with a cry of fear and amazement looked at each other. They were bound hand and foot!

Bound with the very rheims which they had used to secure their packs, their weapons removed, and all their belongings. And yet not one of them had felt the slightest touch, or heard the faintest movement of their enemies, neither was there anyone visible beyond themselves.

The room was about ten feet square, its roof opened to the sky, the walls covered with the shining leaves and twisted tendrils of the wild vine.

“What is the matter?” asked Hume, struggling wildly to free his hands.

“Heaven knows!” muttered Webster, staring helplessly at his bonds.

“And to be bound like this!” cried Hume, in fierce and bitter despair. “Sirayo, what do you say?”

There were beads of sweat on the chief’s forehead, for his bruised arm had been torn from the sling and tightly bound, while his fingers trembled with the pain.

“It is true, we have been bewitched,” he said hoarsely, “for I felt no one touch me, even though they bound my wounded arm.”

“Laura, are you also bound?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Webster struggled to free himself, then rolled over until with his fingers he could touch her cold hand.

“This is awful,” muttered Hume. “Can’t you see any spoor?”

“No,” growled Webster; “the sand has been kicked up, but I can see no footmarks.”

For many minutes they stared at each other with wild eyes, then making a frantic effort, Webster rose to his feet, swayed about a moment, then, in a series of jumps, reached the opening, where he steadied himself. “Good heavens!” he gasped.

They all heard his cry with a feeling of something terrible impending.

“What now?” cried Hume.

“Nothing,” came the faint reply, “but the tightening of the ropes;” but when he turned, his face was ghastly white, and there was a look of horror in his eyes.

Slowly he shuffled to his former place, then turned his head to watch the opening, while his breath came quickly.

“You have seen something,” she whispered, with her eyes fixed on the opening.

“No,” he said; “there is no one there. Laura, can you move up against the far end of the wall? You will be in the shade there. Try, please.”

She slowly crept to the wall, then Hume was asked to join her, and, with a deep groan at his weakness, he did so. Then Webster, with a sigh of relief, sat with his back to them, and his face to the opening, and there came into his eyes that same look of horror. The two warriors saw his fixed gaze, caught, too, the fear in it, and their eyes were fastened on the opening.

“Why don’t you talk,” said Hume, “and tell me what you see; the size of the room, its appearance, anything to relieve this darkness and suspense.”

“Be still,” muttered Webster, in hollow tones.

Hume suppressed the fierce retort that rose to his lips, and the others sat staring at the opening, finding in this new suggestion of unknown danger a fear which quenched the speculation about the mysterious nature of their bondage. So they sat on, while from beyond there came to them a confused sound of shouting, while the sunlight streamed in in a white light, and the broad leaves of the vine rustled softly, and imagination working on their fears kept their senses on the rack. The air grew closer, their lips were parched, and the sweet odour in the heavy air oppressed their breathing.

“Speak,” whispered Laura, moistening her lips.

“Yes, for God’s sake break this silence! It is worse than death;” and Hume rolled impatiently from side to side.

“Yes,” muttered Webster; “it is terrible, this waiting. Shall we talk of the Golden Rock?”

“No, no,” she cried, with a shudder.

“I remember once,” he resumed slowly, “when on the sea—shall I ever feel the touch of the salt breeze again?—the look-out reported the sea-serpent ahead, and, sure enough, we saw the gleaming curves of his body. I recall well how we all grouped forward till the captain gruffly dusted us for a lot of swabs, though he himself had kept his eye glued to his glass. The sea-serpent proved to be a floating mast with a trailing mass of rope and a dead body caught in the raffle.”

Laura laughed hysterically.

“A pleasant story,” said Hume savagely.

“Man, I can’t think of a joke; my brain revolts from the effort. Why were serpents created footless, stealthy, lidless, implacable—the living embodiment of cunning, their very presence—” He stopped short, and the hairs of his moustache bristled. “It comes,” he whispered. “There! there!”

Spellbound, they gazed at something that flickered in the opening at a height of about three feet from the ground, something strange, black, supple, that quivered in the air like a thin flame of fire, insignificant in size, yet suggestive in its lightning play of something terrible. Scarcely breathing, they waited for what was to follow, and in a moment found themselves looking into the unwinking eyes of a huge serpent. The long head and about two feet of the muscular neck alone showed, held high above the ground, and remaining there fixed as if cast in bronze. The sunlight pouring on the large scales made them glow like bits of burnished metal in tints of blue and yellow, while a greenish light smouldered in the unwinking eyes. In the actual size of the head there was nothing alarming. It was no bigger than a man’s hand, with the thumb bent in, the fingers extended, and the knuckles arched, while the neck was no thicker than a man’s wrist. A strong man might grasp it by the neck and strangle it—so Webster thought—but the eyes—ah! in their fixed, impenetrable stare, there was the suggestion of unknown power and mysterious force. Suddenly the forked tongue darted out from the aperture in the grim jaws, quivered rapidly, and then the head was withdrawn.

“Thank God!” murmured Webster.

With a faint cry, Laura fainted away, and was mercifully spared the fresh trial.

“Ah! heavens! Again!” whispered Webster, while, with an awful cry, the Gaika wriggled back to the far end of the room, and turned his face to the wall.

Suddenly the snake darted its head along the floor, and the body poured in with a swift and silent motion, the muscles standing out in a ridge along its swelling bulk. Half-way it reached across the floor in that swift dart; then its head and neck curved back, and the body was bent like a huge S to permit the fatal strike at its destined victim.

“I can feel there is something awful in the room,” said Hume, in hollow tones; “tell me what!”

Webster gulped down a lump in his throat. “A snake!” he gasped, and his eyes, wild and starting, were held as in a spell. He was the nearer, for Sirayo had shrunk against the wall at the side. This thing he felt could only take one. He was to be that one. Well, all right; he would not see Laura die.

Then he went through an ordeal that nearly shook his reason. The snake moved its head from side to side, and his head moved also. The tongue darted out, and his lips quivered. The head was suddenly uplifted, and he staggered to his feet. He began to laugh—foolishly—and his features twitched horribly. His body swayed to and fro, and, with an inarticulate cry he fell forward, his outstretched hands striking against the cold scales. With a loud hiss the reptile darted forward till its head rested on Laura’s insensible body, and its coils gathered upon Webster’s. So it remained a minute, then the head was reared against the wall, the leaves rustled to the strange, flowing movement of the heavy coils, the tail presently slithered over the sand, went up the wall, and disappeared.

Sirayo followed it with bloodshot eyes, looked a moment at the entrance to see if some new horror were in store, looked at the motionless figures about him, then shouted in Zulu: “It is gone; wake up!”

As if in response to his shout, a low music broke out, thin and monotonous, the strains from a native bow, and gradually, as each one of the helpless band revived, they listened with intense relief to these signs of human presence. In the grim silence of that room they had begun to think that there was something magical in the manner of their capture, and they would have welcomed any foe in human form rather than think of another visit from the python.

The monotonous strain rose and fell on the heavy air, a sickly vapour sifted in through the cracks in the wall, suspense gave way before the torture of thirst which suddenly assailed them, and Klaas shouted out to the unseen foes to come and kill him. The music rose to a wail as if in mockery, then receded, grew fainter, died away, was heard again from another point, grew nearer, retreated again, until even Sirayo’s iron nerves broke down under the irritation as he shouted hoarsely.

Suddenly, without sound or notice, the passage was darkened by the form of an old woman, black and withered. She looked at the prostrate captives with a mingling of fear and rage, but they looked not at her, but at a calabash poised on her head, on which glittered a few precious drops of water. Was this to be another mode of torture? No, she moved timidly forward, lifted her calabash from her head, while they followed her movements with glittering eyes, then shot a cooling stream into each mouth gaping wide to receive it. Then the old witch stood there talking passionately, stretching her skinny arms, pointing now to the passage, then at the broad trail of the python.

“Silence,” said Sirayo, “bring someone here who can listen as well as talk.”

She shook her lean hand in his face until the bones cracked, then shuffled out, still shrilly grumbling.

“I am past all feeling of curiosity,” groaned Webster, as his eyes shifted uneasily round the room; “but I should like to know two things: why that old woman has been cursing us after giving us water, and what became of the snake.” He turned his head to scan the wall. “I have a strange feeling in my bones,” he said with a shudder, “that those evil eyes are still fixed upon me!”

Laura shuddered, too, violently, and her dark eyes, looking unnaturally large and bright, glanced about restlessly. “I hope this will soon end,” she whispered.

“Good God!” groaned Hume; “if I could only see!”

They lapsed once more into silence, and listened again to the wailing of the native instrument, heard a sudden outbreak, the sharp crack of rifles, the shouts of men, the wild din of battle.

Chapter Thirty Two.Defending the Passage.Unmistakably the sounds of battle. The small Zulu force of marauders must have come into collision with the people of the valley. It had happened as Hume had said, up to a certain point; but that point left them very far short of the possibility of taking advantage of the fight. Whether the Zulus conquered or were defeated, the result could matter little to the prisoners in the ruined chamber.They heard, without hope as without fear, the roar of the distant fighting, but what affected them keenly was the wailing of the native music, which all along continued to send forth its monotonous cry. They could not understand what was meant by this persistent sound, having in it a wild note of appeal, but they felt it had a closer bearing on their lives than the din of battle.Presently, however, they became aware that the fight was coming nearer. They heard shrill whistling, the occasional sharp crack of a rifle, the deep shouts of individual warriors, and the loud, continuous roar of conflict.It was evident that one party must be in retreat, but fighting stubbornly.“The Zulus are getting the worst of it,” muttered Hume.“If we were only free!” growled Webster, and he made a violent struggle to release his hands.“The shouts of victory,” said Sirayo, “are from the Zulus.”“The fight is coming this way rapidly. The retreating party will surely make a stand in these ruins, and then—”“And then we’ll be put out of our misery.”Louder and fiercer grew the shouts; but through it all pierced the thin music, and it, too, came nearer, shrill and despairing—now nearer, until the musician himself appeared at the door—a wild figure tricked out with bones and teeth, feathers, and whisps of hair. He stood there glaring at them a minute like a wild beast; then dashing his reed instrument to the ground with a yell of rage, he grasped a small battle-axe that hung from his waist, and flourishing it about, poured out a flood of denunciation, exactly as the old woman had done.“Good heavens above,” growled Webster, “to be sworn at by a thing like that.”There came a wild yell of terror from beyond the walls, a cry several times repeated, there was a rush of many feet, and the triumphant shout of victory from the pursuers.“Yoh!” said Sirayo, while a sudden light leapt to his eyes.The musician was also affected. His eyes rolled, his lips foamed, and with a scream he rushed forward.“Hold!” shouted Sirayo in Zulu.The man stood with his axe poised and glared at the chief.“You have lost your familiar, your protecting spirit, the great snake!”The native gnashed his teeth and howled in his fury: “Killed! They have slain it, and now our nation is doomed; but you who caused this shall not escape.”“Fool! Would you destroy your friends? The snake itself fled, though we were bound, because our fetish is more powerful.”The native dropped his arm, and looked half terrified at the eyes that were fixed upon him by the silent and helpless group.There was a sound of men climbing the wall, of metal striking against the rocks, of the Zulu war-shout, ringing loud above the despairing cries of their defeated foes.“Release us, dog, before it is too late!” cried Sirayo hoarsely, while the blood, rushing to his eyes, gave them an awful appearance, as he glared at the now cowed native.A man appeared at the door panting, streaming with blood, a broken feather drooping from his hair. He staggered into the room, and, as he advanced, the first native grovelled at his feet, sobbing.Sirayo thrust out his hands, calling out: “Cut these; the Zulus are our enemies.”The new-comer brushed his hand across his brow and flicked the blood from his fingers.“Who are you?”“A chief, like you. Quick—cut; we can save you.”There was a fall of stones, the Zulu cry rose within the walls. The wounded man, stooping, severed the tough rheims with the sharp blade of his stabbing assegai, then drew it across the thongs about the ankles.Sirayo paused a moment to rub his arms, then, rising up, snatched the battle-axe from the still grovelling native and reached the door. A moment later the blade descended with a crashing blow upon the head of a Zulu who was rushing in. Stooping, he snatched the shield from the dead man, and forced his wounded arm through the band. Up the narrow passage, with eyes gleaming, with a low moaning noise, came a second Zulu. Without a pause he rushed forward, stepped, unheeding, on the quivering body, then bounded at Sirayo. The fierce onset drove the giant warrior back a few feet, but his shield received the thrust, then he struck so fiercely that the blade remained fixed in the skull, and the handle was torn from his grasp by the fall of the stricken man.“Mawoh, oh chief, a stroke for an ox!” came from behind, and Sirayo saw the Gaika at his side.“There is not room for two,” said the chief, as with his toes he grasped the haft of an assegai and lifted it to his hand. “See to the others.”“They are free, but they cannot yet stand, their flesh being too soft, and not of iron, like yours.” The Gaika stooped and pulled the battle-axe from the skull.“Give me room,” growled Sirayo, and Klaas, looking under the chief’s arm, saw three Zulus standing in the passage. He drew back a step, and rubbing his hand in the sand, took a firmer grip of the handle.The Zulus stood awhile, with their nostrils quivering at the scent of blood, and their eyes gleaming with satisfaction to think that one of the fugitives had courage to face them. They did not know it was a warrior from the famous fighting stock of their own nation; but they feared nothing now.“To the good death!” cried the first man, and advanced alone, pausing to roll the dead body against the wall. Then he balanced a throwing assegai, and launched it. The narrow blade struck Sirayo’s shield full, passed through the tough hide, pierced the forearm of the chief, and struck against his ribs.“A good throw,” said the chief, and bounding forward, drove in his assegai under his opponent’s arm before he could raise his shield. The warrior reeled—then sunk to the ground.“To the good death!” cried the second Zulu, bounding forward at once, and hurling himself on Sirayo; he grasped the haft of the assegai that still protruded from the shield, and pushed fiercely at it. The chief slipped and fell backwards, and with a hoarse shout of triumph the enemy lifted his arm to plunge his weapon into the broad and naked breast. With an answering shout the Gaika hurled his battle-axe. It struck the Zulu on the temple and flew high into the air. The man himself fell with his hands outspread upon Sirayo, and before the chief could struggle to his feet the third Zulu, whirling a heavy knob-kerrie, rushed to avenge the death of his comrades. Sirayo, by a herculean effort, raised the dead body as a shield, warding off the furious blow, then, seizing his assailant by the leg, he hurled him against the wall, when the warrior, shaken by the grim and blood-stained figure that rose to confront him, turned and fled with a cry of “Sirayo.” Each separate duel had followed with breathless rapidity, and the chief, exhausted by his morning’s fast and suffering from the second wound in his left arm, leant dizzy and faint against the wall, his lips still curling from his white teeth.The desperate struggle could not be renewed by him if the Zulus returned, and at any moment a fresh string of them might appear. Already there were eager shouts as the escaped warrior spread the news of the presence of Sirayo. Well they knew him from the fight at the waggon; and they would esteem it an honour to vanquish him. Mingled, too, with the cries of his name were the names of his white companions and of the white lady. What would be her fate when they triumphed, as in the end they must?“By the Lord, has a single man done this?” It was Webster who spoke. He had heard the conflict, had seen the first blow given by Sirayo, and had rubbed fiercely to bring back the blood to his numbed limbs.“They will come,” said Sirayo, speaking slowly; “I will hold them for a time. When I fall be ready to take my place. The inkosikasi, does she live?”“Yes,” said Webster, with his eyes brightening at the unyielding courage of the savage warrior.“Give her an assegai,” he said, and put the point of his blood-stained blade to his throat.Webster shuddered at the fearful significance of the gesture, then picked up an assegai, and stood waiting with the Gaika to bar the passage.There was a cry from Laura. “Come,” she said, “quick!”Webster turned with a roar, expecting to face the foe; but he stood amazed to see the native who had so opportunely arrived to cut their bands disappearing through a hole in the wall. Laura stood by, holding Hume by the hand, while with the disengaged hand she pointed at the hole.“A refuge,” she whispered; “a hiding-place.”“Hold the passage a minute, Sirayo,” he cried, then ran to her, and looked through into a dark cavern. “Is it safe?” he asked.“Yes,” said Hume; “but I have lost half my perception with the loss of sight; there is some sort of cave here, I think. The man told me he had run here for shelter.”There was a shout from beyond.Laura struggled through; then Webster lifted Hume, and almost shot him in. “Klaas, come!”The Gaika looked along the passage and hesitated. Webster ran, caught him by the neck, and jammed his head in the hole, then shoved him through by main force.“Jim, come in!” cried Laura.He was already advancing to the passage, but he turned. “I cannot, Laura. Sirayo must come too;” and he rushed away to join the chief, who stood astride the passage eyeing a fresh body of the enemy, whose glaring eyes and quivering nostrils met the view above the striped shields.Two men stood shoulder to shoulder, their shields before them, and two behind held their bucklers above the heads of those in advance.“Now!” they cried, “together!” and advancing in a solid mass, by their sheer weight pushed back their two opponents into the open room; but beyond the opening the two would not budge.Webster drove his fist full in the face of the foremost native, who fell, stunned, against the men behind, and in the opening made Sirayo plunged his assegai. Then the two of them struck and thrust furiously, while the Zulus in front, who could not use their hands, cried to those behind to give them room, but the latter, scenting blood, pressed on the more fiercely, till at last they forced their way and, by their impetus, fell headlong into the room. Webster and the chief sprang aside a moment, and then dashed among their foes before they could rally; and the desperate rush they made, and their great strength exerted to the utmost in each swift blow, combined with the fierce war-shout and terrible vigour of the great Zulu, produced a panic. The injured men at first ran crying out, and then the survivors fled, leaving the two alone with a few writhing figures. Then they struggled, all blood-stained and panting, through the hole to the hiding-place, and the stone was replaced.

Unmistakably the sounds of battle. The small Zulu force of marauders must have come into collision with the people of the valley. It had happened as Hume had said, up to a certain point; but that point left them very far short of the possibility of taking advantage of the fight. Whether the Zulus conquered or were defeated, the result could matter little to the prisoners in the ruined chamber.

They heard, without hope as without fear, the roar of the distant fighting, but what affected them keenly was the wailing of the native music, which all along continued to send forth its monotonous cry. They could not understand what was meant by this persistent sound, having in it a wild note of appeal, but they felt it had a closer bearing on their lives than the din of battle.

Presently, however, they became aware that the fight was coming nearer. They heard shrill whistling, the occasional sharp crack of a rifle, the deep shouts of individual warriors, and the loud, continuous roar of conflict.

It was evident that one party must be in retreat, but fighting stubbornly.

“The Zulus are getting the worst of it,” muttered Hume.

“If we were only free!” growled Webster, and he made a violent struggle to release his hands.

“The shouts of victory,” said Sirayo, “are from the Zulus.”

“The fight is coming this way rapidly. The retreating party will surely make a stand in these ruins, and then—”

“And then we’ll be put out of our misery.”

Louder and fiercer grew the shouts; but through it all pierced the thin music, and it, too, came nearer, shrill and despairing—now nearer, until the musician himself appeared at the door—a wild figure tricked out with bones and teeth, feathers, and whisps of hair. He stood there glaring at them a minute like a wild beast; then dashing his reed instrument to the ground with a yell of rage, he grasped a small battle-axe that hung from his waist, and flourishing it about, poured out a flood of denunciation, exactly as the old woman had done.

“Good heavens above,” growled Webster, “to be sworn at by a thing like that.”

There came a wild yell of terror from beyond the walls, a cry several times repeated, there was a rush of many feet, and the triumphant shout of victory from the pursuers.

“Yoh!” said Sirayo, while a sudden light leapt to his eyes.

The musician was also affected. His eyes rolled, his lips foamed, and with a scream he rushed forward.

“Hold!” shouted Sirayo in Zulu.

The man stood with his axe poised and glared at the chief.

“You have lost your familiar, your protecting spirit, the great snake!”

The native gnashed his teeth and howled in his fury: “Killed! They have slain it, and now our nation is doomed; but you who caused this shall not escape.”

“Fool! Would you destroy your friends? The snake itself fled, though we were bound, because our fetish is more powerful.”

The native dropped his arm, and looked half terrified at the eyes that were fixed upon him by the silent and helpless group.

There was a sound of men climbing the wall, of metal striking against the rocks, of the Zulu war-shout, ringing loud above the despairing cries of their defeated foes.

“Release us, dog, before it is too late!” cried Sirayo hoarsely, while the blood, rushing to his eyes, gave them an awful appearance, as he glared at the now cowed native.

A man appeared at the door panting, streaming with blood, a broken feather drooping from his hair. He staggered into the room, and, as he advanced, the first native grovelled at his feet, sobbing.

Sirayo thrust out his hands, calling out: “Cut these; the Zulus are our enemies.”

The new-comer brushed his hand across his brow and flicked the blood from his fingers.

“Who are you?”

“A chief, like you. Quick—cut; we can save you.”

There was a fall of stones, the Zulu cry rose within the walls. The wounded man, stooping, severed the tough rheims with the sharp blade of his stabbing assegai, then drew it across the thongs about the ankles.

Sirayo paused a moment to rub his arms, then, rising up, snatched the battle-axe from the still grovelling native and reached the door. A moment later the blade descended with a crashing blow upon the head of a Zulu who was rushing in. Stooping, he snatched the shield from the dead man, and forced his wounded arm through the band. Up the narrow passage, with eyes gleaming, with a low moaning noise, came a second Zulu. Without a pause he rushed forward, stepped, unheeding, on the quivering body, then bounded at Sirayo. The fierce onset drove the giant warrior back a few feet, but his shield received the thrust, then he struck so fiercely that the blade remained fixed in the skull, and the handle was torn from his grasp by the fall of the stricken man.

“Mawoh, oh chief, a stroke for an ox!” came from behind, and Sirayo saw the Gaika at his side.

“There is not room for two,” said the chief, as with his toes he grasped the haft of an assegai and lifted it to his hand. “See to the others.”

“They are free, but they cannot yet stand, their flesh being too soft, and not of iron, like yours.” The Gaika stooped and pulled the battle-axe from the skull.

“Give me room,” growled Sirayo, and Klaas, looking under the chief’s arm, saw three Zulus standing in the passage. He drew back a step, and rubbing his hand in the sand, took a firmer grip of the handle.

The Zulus stood awhile, with their nostrils quivering at the scent of blood, and their eyes gleaming with satisfaction to think that one of the fugitives had courage to face them. They did not know it was a warrior from the famous fighting stock of their own nation; but they feared nothing now.

“To the good death!” cried the first man, and advanced alone, pausing to roll the dead body against the wall. Then he balanced a throwing assegai, and launched it. The narrow blade struck Sirayo’s shield full, passed through the tough hide, pierced the forearm of the chief, and struck against his ribs.

“A good throw,” said the chief, and bounding forward, drove in his assegai under his opponent’s arm before he could raise his shield. The warrior reeled—then sunk to the ground.

“To the good death!” cried the second Zulu, bounding forward at once, and hurling himself on Sirayo; he grasped the haft of the assegai that still protruded from the shield, and pushed fiercely at it. The chief slipped and fell backwards, and with a hoarse shout of triumph the enemy lifted his arm to plunge his weapon into the broad and naked breast. With an answering shout the Gaika hurled his battle-axe. It struck the Zulu on the temple and flew high into the air. The man himself fell with his hands outspread upon Sirayo, and before the chief could struggle to his feet the third Zulu, whirling a heavy knob-kerrie, rushed to avenge the death of his comrades. Sirayo, by a herculean effort, raised the dead body as a shield, warding off the furious blow, then, seizing his assailant by the leg, he hurled him against the wall, when the warrior, shaken by the grim and blood-stained figure that rose to confront him, turned and fled with a cry of “Sirayo.” Each separate duel had followed with breathless rapidity, and the chief, exhausted by his morning’s fast and suffering from the second wound in his left arm, leant dizzy and faint against the wall, his lips still curling from his white teeth.

The desperate struggle could not be renewed by him if the Zulus returned, and at any moment a fresh string of them might appear. Already there were eager shouts as the escaped warrior spread the news of the presence of Sirayo. Well they knew him from the fight at the waggon; and they would esteem it an honour to vanquish him. Mingled, too, with the cries of his name were the names of his white companions and of the white lady. What would be her fate when they triumphed, as in the end they must?

“By the Lord, has a single man done this?” It was Webster who spoke. He had heard the conflict, had seen the first blow given by Sirayo, and had rubbed fiercely to bring back the blood to his numbed limbs.

“They will come,” said Sirayo, speaking slowly; “I will hold them for a time. When I fall be ready to take my place. The inkosikasi, does she live?”

“Yes,” said Webster, with his eyes brightening at the unyielding courage of the savage warrior.

“Give her an assegai,” he said, and put the point of his blood-stained blade to his throat.

Webster shuddered at the fearful significance of the gesture, then picked up an assegai, and stood waiting with the Gaika to bar the passage.

There was a cry from Laura. “Come,” she said, “quick!”

Webster turned with a roar, expecting to face the foe; but he stood amazed to see the native who had so opportunely arrived to cut their bands disappearing through a hole in the wall. Laura stood by, holding Hume by the hand, while with the disengaged hand she pointed at the hole.

“A refuge,” she whispered; “a hiding-place.”

“Hold the passage a minute, Sirayo,” he cried, then ran to her, and looked through into a dark cavern. “Is it safe?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Hume; “but I have lost half my perception with the loss of sight; there is some sort of cave here, I think. The man told me he had run here for shelter.”

There was a shout from beyond.

Laura struggled through; then Webster lifted Hume, and almost shot him in. “Klaas, come!”

The Gaika looked along the passage and hesitated. Webster ran, caught him by the neck, and jammed his head in the hole, then shoved him through by main force.

“Jim, come in!” cried Laura.

He was already advancing to the passage, but he turned. “I cannot, Laura. Sirayo must come too;” and he rushed away to join the chief, who stood astride the passage eyeing a fresh body of the enemy, whose glaring eyes and quivering nostrils met the view above the striped shields.

Two men stood shoulder to shoulder, their shields before them, and two behind held their bucklers above the heads of those in advance.

“Now!” they cried, “together!” and advancing in a solid mass, by their sheer weight pushed back their two opponents into the open room; but beyond the opening the two would not budge.

Webster drove his fist full in the face of the foremost native, who fell, stunned, against the men behind, and in the opening made Sirayo plunged his assegai. Then the two of them struck and thrust furiously, while the Zulus in front, who could not use their hands, cried to those behind to give them room, but the latter, scenting blood, pressed on the more fiercely, till at last they forced their way and, by their impetus, fell headlong into the room. Webster and the chief sprang aside a moment, and then dashed among their foes before they could rally; and the desperate rush they made, and their great strength exerted to the utmost in each swift blow, combined with the fierce war-shout and terrible vigour of the great Zulu, produced a panic. The injured men at first ran crying out, and then the survivors fled, leaving the two alone with a few writhing figures. Then they struggled, all blood-stained and panting, through the hole to the hiding-place, and the stone was replaced.

Chapter Thirty Three.The Chief’s Plan.They had entered a narrow chamber, into which the light streamed through numerous cracks, in volume sufficient to bring every object into dim relief. For several minutes the little band, snatched from certain death at the last moment, stood anxiously listening for the movements of their enemies, scarcely daring to hope that their hiding-place would not be immediately detected; then, with a sigh of relief, they grasped each other’s hands and peered about them.At one corner of the room was the old woman who had first visited them, mixing something in a stone dish; near her crouched the witch-doctor, with his head bent in a state of utter dejection, while, with his back to the wall and his eyes fixed upon the woman, leant the warrior whose prompt action had so timely released the captives. Sirayo was seated on the floor, with the Gaika endeavouring to stanch the blood that still trickled down his arm. Hume stood with his hands to his eyes, having torn off the bandage, which, in its sun-dried state, had increased his torture, his face looking haggard and white. As her eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness, dwelt upon his pathetic action, and noticed the signs of suffering in his face, Laura realised what he must have endured through the long hours of darkness. She moved to his side, and gently took his arm, the tears gathering in her eyes.The old woman rose up, washed away the blood from the wounds of the warrior of her own race, then anointed them with the preparation on which she had been engaged, and over the wounds so treated laid a thin leaf peeled from a large bulbous root. The man turned away, and took a deep draught of water from a calabash, the gurgling noise breaking strangely on the silence.Sirayo stood up, and thrust his arm before the old woman, and she, without a word, busied herself with it, probing it with her skinny fingers to feel if the bones were broken, and giving a satisfied grunt when she found it was sound. Moving the limb under a stream of sunlight, and bidding Klaas support it, she washed out the wound, then brought the gaping ends together, and stitched them with a dried thorn of mimosa and sinews. She spread ointment on the wound, and bound the arm up with a curious fragment cut from a long strip stretched along the wall. With the same material she made a sling for his arm, then, with a dry chuckle, dismissed him, and cast a questioning gaze at the others.Seeing, from the expression of Hume’s face, that he was the only other needing her attention, she stepped to his side, drew his hand away, and with glittering eyes peered into his mutilated face. Then, roughly pushing Laura aside, she drew him to the light and again scrutinised him, while the others looked on in silence, subdued by the confidence in her own power of this old and withered savage.She whispered to the crouching witch-doctor, and he submissively brought her first a calabash of water, with which she moistened the blackened and inflamed lids, then some vegetable, which she began to chew with her almost toothless gums, making awful grimaces. Then, taking the masticated pulp, she spread it over the lids, stretched on them leaves from the bulb, and with the handkerchief made a bandage.Hume had submitted with a strange patience, and, now that the operation was over, stood with his face in the light.Laura stole to his side again. “Do you feel any relief?” she murmured.“Hush,” whispered Webster.They listened, and heard a sharp exclamation outside. Those who stood near the wall peeped through the crack, and saw a Zulu standing in the centre of the vacated chamber, looking around him curiously at the signs of the struggle.There was a fierce hiss, and the Zulu, with a cry of alarm, darted off, while the old woman opened wide her mouth in a silent laugh, and cracked her fingers. She it was who had made this noise.They heard a noise of men leaping to the ground, and a distant shouting, gradually sinking to a confused murmur.“They have gone,” said Sirayo. “Old mother, have you any food?”The old dame responded not very amiably, but at an authoritative order from her own chief she disappeared through a narrow opening, hitherto—hidden in the gloom, into another apartment, while, at the prospect of food, the men brightened up. A man may soon become indifferent to danger, but peril never deadens the edge of hunger, so that many a man condemned to death has breakfasted heartily a few minutes before the hour set for his execution. The fare laid before them was not tempting, but they ate the food ravenously and felt the better for it. Laura retired into the other compartment, after somewhat timidly eyeing the old woman, and the strange crone followed her, mumbling and smiling, as well as her toothless gums would permit, at this new type of feminine beauty. The natives prepared to sleep, that appearing to them the most natural alternative, but the developed nerves of the civilised white rebelled against such indulgence at such a time. Hume leant against the wall with his arms folded, putting a few whispered questions to Webster, who restlessly moved up and down, as though pacing the bridge.“I want to get out of this place,” he growled. “It isn’t natural—it’s cramped, dark, uncanny, with the dried skin of a snake on the wall, and in its evil-smelling corners the lurking superstition of a mysterious and bloody past. If we stay here we’ll deserve the worst kind of ill-luck.”“How large are these ruins?” asked Hume.“About fifty yards across, but with a multitude of passages coiling round the centre chamber, from which we escaped into this hole, which, I take it, lies between the first curve of the passage and the inner chamber.”“Then, if the Zulus, knowing we are concealed somewhere in the pile, made a systematic search, they must find us?”“Certainly; and knowing we were in the inner chamber they will begin their search from that point, and discover our hiding-place at once.”“Would it not be best, then, to find out what the Zulus are about?”“Good; anything to get out of this place. I’d better get out the way I squeezed in. Where’s the port-hole—the loose stone?”“Stop; Jim, you must not go; you’re too clumsy for this work. Klaas!”“Sieur!”“We are in great danger here. To get free we need the help of a brave man, a man who can move softly, and use his eyes and ears well. You are he.”“Eweh, Inkose, I am that man.”“You will get out of this place, and, keeping yourself concealed, see where the Zulus are and what they do.”“I will do it,” and he fixed the point of his assegai in a crack in the wall where the movable stone was fixed.“Stay,” said Hume; “I have been thinking. There must be another outlet. The woman was here when we entered; I heard her voice. She must have crept in by another way after bringing us water when we were bound.”“I never thought of that,” muttered Webster.Klaas spoke a word to the witch-doctor, and, at the sullen reply, removed a strip of hide in a corner, slipped through a hole, and disappeared.There was an exclamation from Laura, and she came swiftly in, holding one of the rifles. “Look,” she said, “I have found all our guns and belongings.”Webster caught the rifle and opened the breech. “Loaded! Ah, now we’re all right.”Hume sighed heavily.“Do your eyes pain you still?” she asked gently.“No; I was thinking of my rifle. If I could only see a little—a very little.”She looked into his face, and, with a curious thrill, saw that the tears were streaming down his cheeks. She took his hand and patted it.“I am not weeping,” he said, with a ghost of a smile, “but the treatment of the old woman makes my eyes water.”“Thank God,” said Webster fervently; and he grasped Hume’s disengaged hand in a warm pressure.“What do you mean?” asked Frank hoarsely, while his hand tightened in a convulsive grasp on Laura’s fingers.“I mean that your eyesight will be restored. I saw a similar recovery on theBarracouta, and I remember the surgeon’s joy when he saw the water run from the powder-burnt eyes of the patient.”“I cannot see yet,” muttered Hume, as he raised his fingers to the bandage.“Nay, man, wait a little longer; you are in the hands of the old woman, and must trust the cure to her. But, believe me, Frank, you will see the sight on your rifle when the Zulus come again.”“And the sunlight and the trees,” he whispered.“Which,” Laura said, “would you like to see first?”“Well,” he said, “I would like very much to see my feet, for they appear now not to belong to me, and then one look round the horizon. But the idea frightens me,” and he leant against the wall again with folded arms, while Webster paced to and fro, and Laura stood looking at the quiet figure and the three natives, dimly outlined on the floor.Suddenly the shafts of sunlight that streamed through the lower cracks were cut off, and the black line of shadow crept steadily up the wall, until the narrow cell was faintly illumined by one broad stream only, and this they watched slowly fade away, leaving them in impenetrable gloom.“It is very still,” muttered Hume.“Yes,” said Webster; “it is oppressive. I suppose the night is upon us, but the light has been turned off as though it had been under command. We must not stay here; it would be folly—madness.”There came a sound of shuffling, and the voice of Klaas, sounding hollow, called out:“Are you there?”“What have you seen?”“Ah, it was so still I thought you had been swallowed up. The Zulus are in three parties; one has marched up the valley, another is by the river, and the rest stay near here, where they were encamped before.”“Are they keeping watch over the ruins?”“Neh, sieur, I think they fear the stones and the things in them at night.”“Then let us get out of this,” said Webster.“Wait awhile,” said Hume, for an animated discussion had sprung up between the natives, and he was listening intently. The strange chief was evidently emphasising some point with great earnestness, and the smack of his fingers into the open palm marked off each point.“Does he think the Zulus are determined to find us?” asked Hume.“Oh, ay,” said Sirayo; “yoh, I have no more snuff. They will attack to-morrow, and if they do not succeed the others will come to their help. But they do not seek us!”“They do not seek us?”“So the chief says. They came here in search of riches stored below,” and the thud of his assegai was heard as it struck the floor. “They find us here. It is the worse for us—but they do not seek us. So says the chief.”“Is there such a treasure?”“No chief would tell where the grain pit is dug in the kraal, or if it were full of grain. But the Zulus do not hunt on a cold spoor. If they come after riches, who will say they are not here?”“But who told the Zulus of the store? They were encamped here before, and did not enter the ruins.”Sirayo repeated this, and the chief, with an angry exclamation, poured out a volume of excited words.“He says the secret must have been told them by one of the witch-doctors who lived here, and who alone knew of it with the chiefs.”There was a noise in the room of someone moving. Laura cried out that something had brushed against her, and there was a scraping, followed by a rush of cold wind.Each grasped a weapon, and deep silence ensued as they listened; then Webster struck a match, and, as the feeble light spread, they followed its path through the blackness.“Yoh!” exclaimed Klaas, whose eyes gleamed as they rolled, “theumtagati(witch-doctor) has gone,” and he thrust his assegai through an opening in the wall opposite to the gap through which they had entered.The match went out, and the stranger chief gave a sharp exclamation.“What the devil is in the wind now?” demanded Webster impatiently.“Treachery,” said Hume. “Was that the informer?” he asked in Zulu.“Eweh,” said Sirayo fiercely; “my fingers itched to grasp him by the throat as he sat there like an evil toad through the afternoon. He is one of those who knew the secret, so says Umkomaas, the chief, and he must have given the word to the Zulus last night.”“And now he will go straight to them, tell them where we are, and that half of us are wounded.”“Eweh, he will do that.”“For Heaven’s sake,” said Webster, “give me the bearings of this matter.”Hume explained.Webster laughed fiercely.“We’ve missed port again, but I’m hanged if I weigh anchor now.”“A few minutes ago you were anxious to get away from here.”“Look here, Frank, we are after a treasure. There’s no doubt we’ve been mad to push on; but if there is a treasure here we would be mad to give it up. What do you think yourself?”“Leave me out of the question; let Laura decide.”Sirayo’s deep voice interposed.“The chief Umkomaas has a plan.”“Wait awhile, Laura. What is this plan?”“He says it would be no good to leave this place unless you take the backward path up the mountain, for on the plain you would be seen and attacked in the open. This is a strong place, and the only place that a few men can hold. The Zulus will attack in the morning after they have eaten. You will hold them off till the sun is high. To-night one of us will leave, cross the river, and gather the people to fall on the Zulus. He cannot go, for his hurts are deep; neither a white man, for the people would not follow him; neither the Gaika, for he is not of their race. It is I who will go. Soh! That is the plan, and it is good.”Hume interpreted, and Webster banged his clenched hand into the open palm.“Splendid!” he cried.“Now, Laura, the decision remains with you.”“I am tired,” she said in low tones. “I could not climb the mountain if we retreated. Let us stay.”Hume sighed, and laid his hand upon hers.“What we decide to do must be done quickly,” said Sirayo.“If you find your way to the people, Sirayo, will they not turn upon you?”“The chief has given me the word and a sign. They will follow Sirayo,” said the chief proudly.“Then let it be as you wish.”“I will go,” said the chief, rising; “I must swim the river, and though the way is not far, it will be longer than if I had both arms. But when the shadow is small at your feet you will hear Sirayo’s war-cry.”Without another word he passed from the room by the way Klaas had taken.

They had entered a narrow chamber, into which the light streamed through numerous cracks, in volume sufficient to bring every object into dim relief. For several minutes the little band, snatched from certain death at the last moment, stood anxiously listening for the movements of their enemies, scarcely daring to hope that their hiding-place would not be immediately detected; then, with a sigh of relief, they grasped each other’s hands and peered about them.

At one corner of the room was the old woman who had first visited them, mixing something in a stone dish; near her crouched the witch-doctor, with his head bent in a state of utter dejection, while, with his back to the wall and his eyes fixed upon the woman, leant the warrior whose prompt action had so timely released the captives. Sirayo was seated on the floor, with the Gaika endeavouring to stanch the blood that still trickled down his arm. Hume stood with his hands to his eyes, having torn off the bandage, which, in its sun-dried state, had increased his torture, his face looking haggard and white. As her eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness, dwelt upon his pathetic action, and noticed the signs of suffering in his face, Laura realised what he must have endured through the long hours of darkness. She moved to his side, and gently took his arm, the tears gathering in her eyes.

The old woman rose up, washed away the blood from the wounds of the warrior of her own race, then anointed them with the preparation on which she had been engaged, and over the wounds so treated laid a thin leaf peeled from a large bulbous root. The man turned away, and took a deep draught of water from a calabash, the gurgling noise breaking strangely on the silence.

Sirayo stood up, and thrust his arm before the old woman, and she, without a word, busied herself with it, probing it with her skinny fingers to feel if the bones were broken, and giving a satisfied grunt when she found it was sound. Moving the limb under a stream of sunlight, and bidding Klaas support it, she washed out the wound, then brought the gaping ends together, and stitched them with a dried thorn of mimosa and sinews. She spread ointment on the wound, and bound the arm up with a curious fragment cut from a long strip stretched along the wall. With the same material she made a sling for his arm, then, with a dry chuckle, dismissed him, and cast a questioning gaze at the others.

Seeing, from the expression of Hume’s face, that he was the only other needing her attention, she stepped to his side, drew his hand away, and with glittering eyes peered into his mutilated face. Then, roughly pushing Laura aside, she drew him to the light and again scrutinised him, while the others looked on in silence, subdued by the confidence in her own power of this old and withered savage.

She whispered to the crouching witch-doctor, and he submissively brought her first a calabash of water, with which she moistened the blackened and inflamed lids, then some vegetable, which she began to chew with her almost toothless gums, making awful grimaces. Then, taking the masticated pulp, she spread it over the lids, stretched on them leaves from the bulb, and with the handkerchief made a bandage.

Hume had submitted with a strange patience, and, now that the operation was over, stood with his face in the light.

Laura stole to his side again. “Do you feel any relief?” she murmured.

“Hush,” whispered Webster.

They listened, and heard a sharp exclamation outside. Those who stood near the wall peeped through the crack, and saw a Zulu standing in the centre of the vacated chamber, looking around him curiously at the signs of the struggle.

There was a fierce hiss, and the Zulu, with a cry of alarm, darted off, while the old woman opened wide her mouth in a silent laugh, and cracked her fingers. She it was who had made this noise.

They heard a noise of men leaping to the ground, and a distant shouting, gradually sinking to a confused murmur.

“They have gone,” said Sirayo. “Old mother, have you any food?”

The old dame responded not very amiably, but at an authoritative order from her own chief she disappeared through a narrow opening, hitherto—hidden in the gloom, into another apartment, while, at the prospect of food, the men brightened up. A man may soon become indifferent to danger, but peril never deadens the edge of hunger, so that many a man condemned to death has breakfasted heartily a few minutes before the hour set for his execution. The fare laid before them was not tempting, but they ate the food ravenously and felt the better for it. Laura retired into the other compartment, after somewhat timidly eyeing the old woman, and the strange crone followed her, mumbling and smiling, as well as her toothless gums would permit, at this new type of feminine beauty. The natives prepared to sleep, that appearing to them the most natural alternative, but the developed nerves of the civilised white rebelled against such indulgence at such a time. Hume leant against the wall with his arms folded, putting a few whispered questions to Webster, who restlessly moved up and down, as though pacing the bridge.

“I want to get out of this place,” he growled. “It isn’t natural—it’s cramped, dark, uncanny, with the dried skin of a snake on the wall, and in its evil-smelling corners the lurking superstition of a mysterious and bloody past. If we stay here we’ll deserve the worst kind of ill-luck.”

“How large are these ruins?” asked Hume.

“About fifty yards across, but with a multitude of passages coiling round the centre chamber, from which we escaped into this hole, which, I take it, lies between the first curve of the passage and the inner chamber.”

“Then, if the Zulus, knowing we are concealed somewhere in the pile, made a systematic search, they must find us?”

“Certainly; and knowing we were in the inner chamber they will begin their search from that point, and discover our hiding-place at once.”

“Would it not be best, then, to find out what the Zulus are about?”

“Good; anything to get out of this place. I’d better get out the way I squeezed in. Where’s the port-hole—the loose stone?”

“Stop; Jim, you must not go; you’re too clumsy for this work. Klaas!”

“Sieur!”

“We are in great danger here. To get free we need the help of a brave man, a man who can move softly, and use his eyes and ears well. You are he.”

“Eweh, Inkose, I am that man.”

“You will get out of this place, and, keeping yourself concealed, see where the Zulus are and what they do.”

“I will do it,” and he fixed the point of his assegai in a crack in the wall where the movable stone was fixed.

“Stay,” said Hume; “I have been thinking. There must be another outlet. The woman was here when we entered; I heard her voice. She must have crept in by another way after bringing us water when we were bound.”

“I never thought of that,” muttered Webster.

Klaas spoke a word to the witch-doctor, and, at the sullen reply, removed a strip of hide in a corner, slipped through a hole, and disappeared.

There was an exclamation from Laura, and she came swiftly in, holding one of the rifles. “Look,” she said, “I have found all our guns and belongings.”

Webster caught the rifle and opened the breech. “Loaded! Ah, now we’re all right.”

Hume sighed heavily.

“Do your eyes pain you still?” she asked gently.

“No; I was thinking of my rifle. If I could only see a little—a very little.”

She looked into his face, and, with a curious thrill, saw that the tears were streaming down his cheeks. She took his hand and patted it.

“I am not weeping,” he said, with a ghost of a smile, “but the treatment of the old woman makes my eyes water.”

“Thank God,” said Webster fervently; and he grasped Hume’s disengaged hand in a warm pressure.

“What do you mean?” asked Frank hoarsely, while his hand tightened in a convulsive grasp on Laura’s fingers.

“I mean that your eyesight will be restored. I saw a similar recovery on theBarracouta, and I remember the surgeon’s joy when he saw the water run from the powder-burnt eyes of the patient.”

“I cannot see yet,” muttered Hume, as he raised his fingers to the bandage.

“Nay, man, wait a little longer; you are in the hands of the old woman, and must trust the cure to her. But, believe me, Frank, you will see the sight on your rifle when the Zulus come again.”

“And the sunlight and the trees,” he whispered.

“Which,” Laura said, “would you like to see first?”

“Well,” he said, “I would like very much to see my feet, for they appear now not to belong to me, and then one look round the horizon. But the idea frightens me,” and he leant against the wall again with folded arms, while Webster paced to and fro, and Laura stood looking at the quiet figure and the three natives, dimly outlined on the floor.

Suddenly the shafts of sunlight that streamed through the lower cracks were cut off, and the black line of shadow crept steadily up the wall, until the narrow cell was faintly illumined by one broad stream only, and this they watched slowly fade away, leaving them in impenetrable gloom.

“It is very still,” muttered Hume.

“Yes,” said Webster; “it is oppressive. I suppose the night is upon us, but the light has been turned off as though it had been under command. We must not stay here; it would be folly—madness.”

There came a sound of shuffling, and the voice of Klaas, sounding hollow, called out:

“Are you there?”

“What have you seen?”

“Ah, it was so still I thought you had been swallowed up. The Zulus are in three parties; one has marched up the valley, another is by the river, and the rest stay near here, where they were encamped before.”

“Are they keeping watch over the ruins?”

“Neh, sieur, I think they fear the stones and the things in them at night.”

“Then let us get out of this,” said Webster.

“Wait awhile,” said Hume, for an animated discussion had sprung up between the natives, and he was listening intently. The strange chief was evidently emphasising some point with great earnestness, and the smack of his fingers into the open palm marked off each point.

“Does he think the Zulus are determined to find us?” asked Hume.

“Oh, ay,” said Sirayo; “yoh, I have no more snuff. They will attack to-morrow, and if they do not succeed the others will come to their help. But they do not seek us!”

“They do not seek us?”

“So the chief says. They came here in search of riches stored below,” and the thud of his assegai was heard as it struck the floor. “They find us here. It is the worse for us—but they do not seek us. So says the chief.”

“Is there such a treasure?”

“No chief would tell where the grain pit is dug in the kraal, or if it were full of grain. But the Zulus do not hunt on a cold spoor. If they come after riches, who will say they are not here?”

“But who told the Zulus of the store? They were encamped here before, and did not enter the ruins.”

Sirayo repeated this, and the chief, with an angry exclamation, poured out a volume of excited words.

“He says the secret must have been told them by one of the witch-doctors who lived here, and who alone knew of it with the chiefs.”

There was a noise in the room of someone moving. Laura cried out that something had brushed against her, and there was a scraping, followed by a rush of cold wind.

Each grasped a weapon, and deep silence ensued as they listened; then Webster struck a match, and, as the feeble light spread, they followed its path through the blackness.

“Yoh!” exclaimed Klaas, whose eyes gleamed as they rolled, “theumtagati(witch-doctor) has gone,” and he thrust his assegai through an opening in the wall opposite to the gap through which they had entered.

The match went out, and the stranger chief gave a sharp exclamation.

“What the devil is in the wind now?” demanded Webster impatiently.

“Treachery,” said Hume. “Was that the informer?” he asked in Zulu.

“Eweh,” said Sirayo fiercely; “my fingers itched to grasp him by the throat as he sat there like an evil toad through the afternoon. He is one of those who knew the secret, so says Umkomaas, the chief, and he must have given the word to the Zulus last night.”

“And now he will go straight to them, tell them where we are, and that half of us are wounded.”

“Eweh, he will do that.”

“For Heaven’s sake,” said Webster, “give me the bearings of this matter.”

Hume explained.

Webster laughed fiercely.

“We’ve missed port again, but I’m hanged if I weigh anchor now.”

“A few minutes ago you were anxious to get away from here.”

“Look here, Frank, we are after a treasure. There’s no doubt we’ve been mad to push on; but if there is a treasure here we would be mad to give it up. What do you think yourself?”

“Leave me out of the question; let Laura decide.”

Sirayo’s deep voice interposed.

“The chief Umkomaas has a plan.”

“Wait awhile, Laura. What is this plan?”

“He says it would be no good to leave this place unless you take the backward path up the mountain, for on the plain you would be seen and attacked in the open. This is a strong place, and the only place that a few men can hold. The Zulus will attack in the morning after they have eaten. You will hold them off till the sun is high. To-night one of us will leave, cross the river, and gather the people to fall on the Zulus. He cannot go, for his hurts are deep; neither a white man, for the people would not follow him; neither the Gaika, for he is not of their race. It is I who will go. Soh! That is the plan, and it is good.”

Hume interpreted, and Webster banged his clenched hand into the open palm.

“Splendid!” he cried.

“Now, Laura, the decision remains with you.”

“I am tired,” she said in low tones. “I could not climb the mountain if we retreated. Let us stay.”

Hume sighed, and laid his hand upon hers.

“What we decide to do must be done quickly,” said Sirayo.

“If you find your way to the people, Sirayo, will they not turn upon you?”

“The chief has given me the word and a sign. They will follow Sirayo,” said the chief proudly.

“Then let it be as you wish.”

“I will go,” said the chief, rising; “I must swim the river, and though the way is not far, it will be longer than if I had both arms. But when the shadow is small at your feet you will hear Sirayo’s war-cry.”

Without another word he passed from the room by the way Klaas had taken.

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