r, keeping as much under cover of the bushes as possible.

"Steady, boys; it's only ourselves," sung out Ben Halse, as several
rifles went up ominously to greet them. "Good Lord! I don't know where
you'd all be if it wasn't for our same selves. Now, then, let's get
into position. We'll want it directly."

They did. Broad shields showed through the misty dawn, their bearers
advancing at a sort of creeping run behind them, then the gleam of
assegais. A few shots were fired, but hummed high overhead, doing no
harm. But the men within, now thoroughly aroused, were all the cool and
daring pioneers of civilisation such men almost invariably are. Each
instinctively sought out the most useful post, and their rifles crashed
into the advancing rush, pouring in shot after shot from the magazines.

"Here, you mustn't be here. Go back into the house. You'll be hit."

The tone was gruff, and the speaker Harry Stride. Verna answered--

"No, I shan't. I can shoot, and I'm going to."

And she did. Afterwards she did not care to reckon up with what effect.

The loss to the assailants was great, terrific. They were at close
quarters, and the defenders were firing low. And then they began to get
entangled and tripped up on the barbed wires.

"_Usutu_!"

The war-cry rang out, fierce-throated, on the right. A derisive yell
was the reply.

"Boy, bring the coffee, sharp," shouted someone inside, between the
volleys.

"How much to the Point?" sung out someone else: the joke being that many
of the assailants wore clothes, and had possibly been kitchen boys or
ricksha pullers in Durban or Maritzburg. To which the assailants would
shout back--

"How many women have you got there, _abelungu? Ha_! We shall find
wives directly without having to pay _lobola_."

"Here is the price of one!" cried Verna grimly, as she drilled the head
of a flitting savage who was glancing from one point of cover to
another. A huge shout arose from the defenders.

"Good shot! Oh, good shot! Three cheers for Miss Halse!"

And they were heartily given, amid the roar of dropping volleys. Yet,
at the moment, Verna felt disgusted. That old feeling came over her
again.

But a voice dispelled it.

"Darling, you are too rash. There are enough of us. Why not go under
shelter?" Denham was beside her. All the bitter thoughts vanished.

"Alaric, don't loathe me for this," she whispered. "I don't do it for
choice, but we want all the