growled. “I guess I can wait; another week of this will bring you to your senses; and if it doesn’t—why, I’ll carry your pretty daughter off into the woods, and then perhaps she’ll be glad to form one of my establishment, if she can get the chance,” and the villain turned to walk away.

And now was enacted a singular drama—part tragedy, part comedy.

The cousins, with their rifles cocked, had been watching every action of the Mormon so closely that they had quite forgotten their Zulu friend, and just as the man who had been designated as Abiram Levert was about to leave the glade and betake himself to the forest on the side farthest from their hiding-place, to the utter astonishment of the watchers, Myzukulwa coolly stepped out into the open and barred his passage in a threatening manner. Quick as thought the Mormon threw forward his rifle, but before he could pull the trigger the active Zulu had struck up his muzzle and the piece was harmlessly discharged in the air.

Myzukulwa promptly followed up his advantage, and aimed a thrust at his enemy which would certainly have annihilated him, when his spear was deftly turned aside by a similar weapon, from which it struck a veritable shower of sparks, and the Zulu found himself fully employed in protecting his own epidermis from the spear of a splendid-looking man, who might easily have passed for one of his own people.

Taking advantage of this diversion in his favour, the cowardly Mormon drew a murderous-looking hunting-knife, and, walking up to the Zulu, prepared to strike him in the back. The moment he raised the weapon, however, Grenville’s rifle vomited a sheet of flame through the bushes, and Brother Abiram Levert bit the dust, with a heavy bullet through his brain.

The cousins watched anxiously for a chance of disposing of Myzukulwa’s opponent in like manner, but the evolutions of the combatants were much too complicated to admit of shooting one without very great risk to the other.

The Zulu had forced his man inch by inch into the centre of the forest glade, and the steely flashes of the spears were keen and vivid as the lightning on a stormy night; all at once Myzukulwa, who had manoeuvred so as to get the light into his opponent’s eyes, made an advance which Grenville knew to be a favourite and deadly point of his, and, on its being most unexpectedly parried, bounded back with a cry of astonishment, and stood quietly leaning on his spear, whilst his foe gazed at him, for the space of a few seconds, in sheer wonder, and then, concluding Myzukulwa had given in, prepared to finish him. The great Zulu, however, raised his hand, and, pointing to his foe, began a speech which was both wild and curious:—

“Tell me, white men, what is life? Is it not the breath of the Creator? Does it come and go like the blushes on a maiden’s cheek? Is it the shadow which comes to us at daybreak but to vanish with the setting sun? Here have we no daybreak, nor can it be evening; yet, how then, in this strange place of witchcraft, have I, Myzukulwa, the son of Isanusi, the last of the ancient chieftains of the race of Undi, met face to face and fought with my brother Amaxosa, the son of my own mother, he having been slain in the Pass of the Spooks sixty long moons ago?”

The other man emitted a strange wild cry, gazed for a moment at Myzukulwa as if spell-bound, and then the pair fell to embracing one another, vociferating the while in the Zulu tongue, whilst Grenville, who saw they had no more to fear from the new arrival, commenced unbinding the white prisoner with many commiserating expressions.

“Who are you?” he asked Grenville.

“Englishmen who have come in answer to your entreaty for help,” replied Leigh.

“Thank God—oh! thank God,” murmured the other, and then fainted dead away in their arms.

A little water sprinkled on his face soon brought him to life again, and he commenced to explain his position.

“My name,” he began, “is John Winfield, and I—”

“Look here, old chap,” cut in Leigh, “we’ve no time to hear your story now; we can see you don’t belong to this wretched Mormon herd, so just swallow this drop of brandy whilst we strip yonder scoundrel and get you something decent to put on, and we’ll try to feed you by-and-by. Dick, what a good thing it was you took that fellow in the head; I drew a bead on his ribs, and should have mauled his clothes horribly if you hadn’t fired first.”

With the help of the Zulus the dead Mormon was quickly despoiled of his apparel and Winfield rigged out in it, and by the time this was done, the shadows were lengthening and Myzukulwa said his brother was ready to take them to a place of safety, where they would find food, water, and sleep. Rapidly assenting to the plan, Grenville told the Zulus to lead on, and leaving the denuded body of Brother Abiram without compunction, they followed their new friend through the forest.

Plunging deeper and deeper into the bush, they found the country rough and stony; the trees were of unusual growth, and matted with curious creepers of the lichen species, whilst here and there tangled festoons of parasites hung from tree to tree in the likeness of gigantic swinging hammocks. The party at length heard the welcome sound of running water, and soon reached a small stream, into which, by direction of Amaxosa, all entered, following its course upward for quite a mile, so as to conceal every trace of their movements. Then, instead of climbing the bank, the active Zulu swung himself into a tree which overhung the water, and, working his way along a stout branch, was followed one by one by the entire party, all being thus enabled to drop on to some rocks a dozen feet off, without leaving any marks behind them. Another mile, mainly over stony ground brought the party to a second small river, up which they waded in like manner for some little distance, until they found that it issued from a great hole in the side of a curious ragged-looking cliff, which, erecting itself some hundred feet above them, seemed entirely to bar further progress through the forest.

Through this entrance Amaxosa passed, beckoning to the party to follow; and when the gloom began to grow deep some twenty yards from the outlet, he spoke for the first time, addressing Grenville in fairly good English, though he did not speak the language with the same fluency as his brother.

“Let the Inkoosis strike lights, and Amaxosa will find his torch.”

Grenville at once complied with this request, and when the match was once alight the Zulu stepped forward a couple of yards, picked up his torch from a ledge of rock, and having quickly ignited it, led the party out of the water, up a passage some fifty feet long, and into a spacious and lofty cavern, having the appearance of a vaulted room, with only one outlet.