companied the
latter on many a collecting expedition in pursuit of his natural history
studies, and had entered into these with enthusiasm and zest; here,
then, was a motive, here a presumption that his weighty warning might be
a true one. None knew better than himself either, the marvellous, if
mysterious, methods which these people had of flashing news from point
to point almost with telegraphic swiftness, wherefore he had no reason
to doubt that this one knew what he was talking about.

"Attend now, Jacob," he said. "You made a grave attempt yesterday
against the safety of all here, and it did not succeed. To-day you are,
as you say, making an attempt to ensure our safety. If that succeeds it
will wash out the other attempt." Then to those who custodied him,
"Take him to the guard-hut, iron his legs at any rate, and put two
sentries on guard--until further orders."

Jacob Snyman, otherwise Manyelo, saluted and was led away. He knew now
that his life was saved.

Dick Selmes and one or two more noticed an almost imperceptible but
approving nod on the part of Harley Greenoak, standing behind the
Commandant, as this decision was given. The latter rose. The
proceedings were ended. It was near evening now, and the whole Force
was immediately put in preparation for giving its expected assailants a
particularly warm reception.

"Well, you're a plucky young swine anyhow, Jacob," growled one of the
troopers who was fixing on the leg irons. "Darned if I didn't think we
should be shovelling you underground just now, instead of anchoring you
tight in a snug hut. But if you don't get us our big fight to-night,
the old man'll still have you shot."

"Oh, you get your fight right enough," answered the prisoner, with a
careless laugh. "Quite as much fight as you want, no fear. I say--any
one got pipe o' 'bacco to spare?"

"Here you are, you young swab, although you did try to blow us all sky
high," said the man, lugging out half a handful. "Still you're plucky
enough anyway."

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE ATTACK.

The camp of the Frontier Armed and Mounted Police at the Kangala lay
wrapped in the stillness of profound slumber.

It was the darkest hour of night--that before the dawn. Even that would
not have been dark, for the moon had not yet set, but a thick mist lay
upon the land, blotting out everything in its confusing, bewildering
folds; damp too, so that the shivering men, sleeping on their arms,
dis