"As to 'cut-off,' I know not," answered the other, stung out of his natural respect towards one of the Royal House. "This I know--that that branch now puts forth the most leaves. The 'word' from it was: 'Take the cattle of Mnyamana,' and I have taken them."

"But no further shalt thou take them, dead leaf of the cut-off branch,"

replied Dabulamanzi, "for we have taken them from thee. See. There they go."

Away--now quite at a distance, the animals were visible, going at a run, propelled towards the mountain fastnesses by quite a number of men.

This fact, too, Qapela noted, and noted with significance, for it meant that by just that number of warriors was the opposing impi reduced, thus bringing it as nearly as possible upon equal terms with his own. He had lost the cattle--for which he was responsible, and the chief to whom he did _konza_ was no indulgent master. But what if he were to avenge their loss? The obligation he would thus lay himself under would far, far outweigh the mere carrying out of his original orders. He stole one quick look over his followers. Yes. The thing could be done, if only he could convey some sort of word or signal that they should strike immediately and in concert.

But there was with Dabulamanzi's force an old induna named Untuswa, a scarred old battle-dog whose whole life had been spent in a laughing acquaintance with Death, by the side of whose crowded experience such a crisis as this was as the merest child's play; a born strategist, moreover, whose rapidity of plan had turned the scale of more than one hard fought and b.l.o.o.d.y struggle. He, while these amenities were going forward, had taken but scant notice of them; instead, had let his observation--the outcome of exhaustive experience--go as to the att.i.tude of the other side, and also that of his own. With regard to the latter, a mere breathed word here and there had been sufficient. Warriors had slipped away unostentatiously from his side--to mingle with the rest-- far and near--and as they went, they, too, carried a word.

Untuswa read Qapela's mind, and Untuswa knew, none better, the supreme advantage of getting in the first blow. Now he lifted up his voice and roared in deep sonorous tone, the war-shout of the King's party.

"Usutu!"

Like an answering wave in thunder on an iron-bound coast it was taken up and rolled through the mult.i.tude. The ranks seemed to tighten a moment, then hurled themselves upon the opposing force. For a few moments there was deadly work--the tramp of feet, the flapping of shield against shie|d, the death-hiss--the strident "_I-jji_! _I-jji_!" as the spear or heavy k.n.o.b-stick struck home; then Qapela's force, overwhelmed, demoralised by the suddenness of the onslaught, broke and fled in blind, scattered confusion, the Usutu impi in hot pursuit. A mandate from Dabulamanzi, however, recalled this, as far as was practicable. He had no wish to destroy his own people, any more of them, that is, than was absolutely necessary, only to show that the King, though an exile, was still the Great Great One, in whose light they lived, and that his wrath could still burn far and terrible upon these rebellious ones. But that mandate could not reach those in the forefront of the pursuit, who, carried away by the irresistible dash and excitement of it all, were already far beyond reach of recall. So the chase kept on, not always to the advantage of the pursuers, for these would often turn--and then it was as the fighting of a cornered wild animal. Mile upon mile this fierce running fight went on, until the shades of evening began to deepen, and then there was just one left, a young man, lithe and fleet of foot; and he, beset by a relentless score, stumbled, gasping and exhausted, his breath coming in labouring sobs, into a white man's camp, to fall, p.r.o.ne, incapable of further movement, nearly across the white men's fire.

Note 1. A term of honour accorded to male members of the Royal House.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE REFUGEE.

"Yes, I'm afraid there's thunder in the air," said Joe Fleetwood, lazily sharpening a well-worn sheath-knife upon the iron rim of a waggon wheel.

"All these runners pa.s.sing to and fro--bristling with a.s.segais, too, and in too much almighty hurry to stop and talk--seem to point that way."

"How'll that affect our scheme?" said Wyvern lazily; he was lying on his back on the ground, his head on his hands and a pipe between his teeth, looking the picture of ease and content. A little way off the waggon boys--all Natal natives--were washing and scrubbing the enamelled metal plates on which their masters had not long ago been lunching, chatting among themselves in subdued tones; and, squatting apart, and throwing at them an occasional remark, was a head-ringed Zulu. Away in front stretched an amphitheatre of mountains, whose wall-like cliffs gleamed in the afternoon sun.

"It may affect us this way," went on Fleetwood, "that if the rival parties come to blows we may be expected to take sides or be chawed up between the two."

"The deuce! Well, we didn't reckon on a second edition of '79, as part of our plans, did we? It won't forward what we came up for, either."

"No, it won't. Another bad sign is we've done next to no trade. When once it became patent we weren't gun-runners, they've kept at a respectful distance."

They had come into the Zulu country as ordinary traders, with two waggons. Fleetwood, of course, was well aware that under existing circ.u.mstances trade would be almost at a standstill, but the waggon loads were a pretext; a blind to cover their real intentions.

Now the Zulu before mentioned got up, stretched himself, and strolled leisurely over to them. He was an elderly man with a pleasing face, and, if anything, inclined to stoutness.

"There is thunder in the air," he said, in a casual tone.

"I made that remark but now, Hlabulana," answered Fleetwood. "Well?"

"While sitting over yonder my ears were open to other sounds than the chatter of these Amakafula," went on the Zulu in the same low, matter-of-fact tones. "They heard sounds of war."

"Of war?" repeated Joe, examining the edge of the knife. "Now what sounds were they, Hlabulana?"

"The rush of many feet--the rumble of hoofs. Men are striving, and it is for cattle."

"I hear it again," said Hlabulana, who had resumed his squatting att.i.tude.

"So do I," said the trader, who had seated himself on the ground, and who, while not seeming to, was listening intently.

"What are you two chaps yarning about?" said Wyvern, raising himself upon one elbow. He had mastered the Zulu tongue so far but indifferently. "Hallo! What the deuce is that? Did you hear it?"

Fleetwood nodded. The waggon boys had dropped their work and sprang to their feet, uttering quick exclamations as they stared forth over the veldt. Again that dull and distant roar boomed forth upon the lazy air.

"You and I have heard it before, Wyvern. At Hlobane, for instance. How about the King's war-shout?"

Wyvern started, and looked grave.

"'Usutu'?" he said, listening again. "Why, so it might be. Shall we be attacked then, because if so, I'm afraid our chances are slight."

"I don't think they'll interfere with us. What do you think, Hlabulana?" relapsing into the vernacular. "What is being done yonder?"

He addressed, who had been listening intently, shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"I think that the Abesutu and the children of the white man's chiefs have--met," he answered, a comical crinkle coming round the corners of his eyes. "_Whau_! they are always meeting, only to-day there seem more of them than usual. See. They draw nearer."

Now the sounds of the tumult, though faint, were audible without an effort. It was noticeable that the Natal boys edged very close indeed to their white masters. The Native Contingent at Isandhlwana had been made up largely of their kindred, and the tradition thereof was still fresh and green. A quick exclamation escaped them.

For, over the low ridge spa.r.s.ely covered with bush, about a mile north-west of their outspan, figures had now come in sight--figures running--dark figures--and now and again something gleamed. More and more came over, and among them were more and more points that gleamed.

Fleetwood and Wyvern exchanged a word, then dived into a waggon, to re-appear in a moment, each with a double gun and a very business-like revolver indeed. The native boys fished out a k.n.o.b-kerrie apiece from somewhere--not that it would have been of much use, still it was some sort of a weapon. The only one who betrayed not the smallest sign of excitement was Hlabulana, the Zulu.

"They are running," he said--"running away. They are not running to attack. _Wou_! _Pakati_!" he exclaimed, as one of the fugitives, overtaken by three pursuers, fell.

And now the rout drew very near. There was little noise and no shouting--presumably pursuers and pursued required all their wind. Then the spectators could see that of the latter there was only one left.

He was a young man, tall and long-legged, and with head down he covered the ground with great strides, just keeping his distance and never looking round. Clearly he was making for the white man's protection as his only chance, but--would the white man have the power to afford it?

Eagerly and with deepening excitement did the spectators watch the progress of this straining chase. Ah! he is down! no, it is only a stumble, and as he recovers himself the exultant yell changes to accents of rage. One or two stop, and hurl a.s.segais, but these fall short. A hundred yards more--fifty, forty, ten, and then--the fugitive staggers up and falls--almost into the fire--as we have seen.

The pursuit made no halt, but poured on as though to overwhelm the camp itself.

"We can't have this, Wyvern," muttered Fleetwood uneasily. Then, in the Zulu: "Halt. He who comes ten steps further--_drops_."

The effect was magical. This white man was known to them, known to them too as one who in a matter of this kind might be relied upon to keep his word. Wherefore they halted with an alacrity that was wholly commendable. A murmur went up.

"It is Ujo!"

"That is right," briskly answered Fleetwood. "And knowing that you know me. And knowing me, you know that any man who takes refuge in my camp is safe: safe from anybody, as long as I am safe, this is. Now--has anybody any inclination to try if I am safe?"

The opposing crowd consisted of young men; hot-headed, hot-blooded young savages, armed, and having already tasted blood. Not yet were they inclined to relax hold upon their prey. Vociferating, they waved their spears--many of them blood-stained--and their shields, roaring for their prize, their victim. And, by now others having come up to swell the tumult, there were about threescore of them.

"Give him to us!" they bellowed. "He is ours. But for your camp our spears would have drunk his blood ere this."

Fleetwood stood facing them, and shook his head.