f shields, a perfect bristle of
assegais. A black impi--a naked impi--no dirty tattered shirts or
ragged store clothes among these. They were as the old-time warriors of
the king--with flowing war adornments and crested headgear and great
tufted shields. And they were no further off than four hundred yards.

A sharp word of command and the police rifles rang out. The oncoming
ranks were shaken, but with the second volley the whole advancing mass
had sunk like magic to the earth, and the discharge swept over them
harmlessly. At the same time a terrific volley swept over the camp
_from the rear of the assailants_. These, under cover of it, made a
nearer rush, and the same tactics were repeated.

"By God!" shouted Bray, taking in this, and excited by a couple of
bullets whizzing over, and very near to, his head. "There's tactics in
this. Covering their advance! Who the devil could have taught them
that move, eh, Halse?"

The latter said nothing at first, but he thought he knew.

"It's Sapazani's prime impi," he declared. "No clothes, and charging
in. We've got our job cut out. Not `shirt-tail' warriors these, but
quite after the real old style."

As the "covering tactic" was repeated the impi extended with
lightning-like rapidity, following out the old Zulu practice of throwing
out surrounding "horns." They could not have been less than a thousand
strong--rather over than under. And now for the first time arose from
that number of throats the roar of the war-shout--

"Usutu!"

The police horses were now thrown into confusion--several of them had
fallen in that overhead volley, standing high as they did, and were
kicking and struggling in all directions; indeed, it was all that those
told off to hold them could do to restrain them on the picket lines at
all. As yet, however, not a man had been hit.

"The chief!" ejaculated Ben Halse eagerly, touching Bray on the arm.
"Sapazani."

In the forefront of the impi, waving his great shield, Sapazani was now
conspicuous. His gigantic form, the towering black ostrich plumes stuck
within his head-ring would have marked him anywhere. But he seemed to
bear a charmed life. A bullet from Ben Halse clipped one of his plumes,
but he shook his head and laughed.

"Greeting, U' Ben! Thy hand and eye are failing," he roared; bounding,
leaping, like a wild beast, in the forefront of his followers, who were
now beginning to fall around him in rows. All sides of th