the idea of
quarrelling over this question of gain. But in this instance it was to
him a question of self-respect, and therefore of principle. How was it
going to end?

They stood there facing each other; the countenance of one set and
determined, that of the other sullen, defiant, dogged. How was it going
to end?

Suddenly an ejaculation escaped Sellon, and the expression of his face
changed to one of vivid alarm.

"Oh, good God!" he cried. "Here they come! Look! look!" and, turning
at the same time, he started off up the hill towards where the horses
were standing, fortunately ready saddled.

Renshaw, suspecting a new trick, sent a quick glance backward over his
shoulder. But the other had spoken truly.

Swarming over the opposite brow of the mountain, came a crowd of uncouth
shapes. Baboons? No.

Ape-like, it was true, but--human.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE "SCHELM BUSHMEN."

No further thought of their quarrel now. That must be put aside in the
face of the common enemy.

They had several hundred yards of stiff uphill work before they could
reach the horses. The savages were still nearly a mile distant, but
above, and running on the level. It would be a near race.

As soon as they perceived that their approach was discovered the
barbarians set up a shrill yell, and redoubled their efforts to arrive
in time to cut off our two adventurers from their horses. It became a
stirring race for life.

Up the steep mountain-side they pressed. Renshaw, being in hard
training, easily took the lead. The other began to pant and blow in
most distressful fashion almost before he was half way.

"Keep up, Sellon. Put on a spurt, if you can," said Renshaw, dropping
on one knee and taking aim at the onrushing crowd.

The weapon cracked. It was a long shot, but he had fired "into the
brown." There was a splash of dust, just short of the mob. Then the
savages scattered, leaping and bounding like bucks. One could be seen
crawling on the sward, evidently badly wounded by the ball in its
ricochet.

But the check was only momentary. On pressed the pursuers, now in more
scattered formation, zigzagging along the rocks at the base of the
cock's-comb ridge, nearer, nearer. They were a hideous group--some
squat and monkey-like, others long and gaunt--grotesque mud-coloured
figures, their ragged wool and staring, horn-like ears given them the
aspect of so many mediaevally depicted fiends. They were arm