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As they passed tremblingly among the ranks of the Wangoni the latter handled their great spears meaningly, and with much the same expression of countenance as a cat might wear when contemplating an inaccessible bird cage. "Ho, dog!" cried Mashumbwe, as a youth passed before him without making obeisance. "Do you dare stand before me before me! thou spawn of these man-eating jackals?
"Hearken, Mashumbwe, you are chief of your own people, but I am chief of all of all! Not a man stirs until El Khanac comes up. Not a man, do you hear?" Mashumbwe tossed back his ringed head, and his eyes glared. He was a tall, fine savage, with all the pride of mien inseparable from his rank and Zulu blood.
During this conversation the whole party had halted, and now stood in a great semicircle around the white leaders. Then Mashumbwe spoke, and his words, though fairly courteous, managed to cover an extremely defiant tone. "Our people are dissatisfied, father," he said, addressing Hazon. "They desire to return home." "Wherefore?" asked Hazon shortly.
The chief, Mashumbwe, is speared and ripped. The struggle is fierce and hand-to-hand, but short. The Wangoni, now a sorry remnant, are rolled back upon their allies.
"Whau, what does it mean?" half sneered their leader, scowling resentfully upon Laurence as the warriors crowded around, growling like a pack of baffled wolves. "Had we not better send some in to see if these dogs are indeed all dead?" "Not so, Mashumbwe," was the unconcerned reply. "Tarry until the others arrive, then will we act together." But a furious clamour arose at the words.
"We go, then," cried Mashumbwe, waving his hand. "Fare ye well, El Khanac; Af
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