e--we come to trade."

"The way to trade isn't to raise all this abominable din," replied
Dawes, coolly. "Sit down, can't you, and talk quietly."

A roar of derision greeted this.

"We are the Igazipuza, _'mlungu_," they shouted. "Ha--Come forth, you
dogs!"

This to the Swazi fugitives who had slunk under one of the waggons, in
the desperate hope that these terrible and dreaded warriors might take
their departure as suddenly as they had appeared.

"Come forth, dogs--come forth!" they vociferated again. And daring no
longer hesitate, the wretched Swazis crept trembling from their would-be
hiding-place.

"Ha, you long-legged, wolf-faced jackal," cried a savage-looking
villain, seizing Kazimbi by the throat, and placing the point of his
assegai against his breast. "What is your name?"

"Kazimbi, _Inkose_!" faltered the trembling Swazi.

"Kazimbi? _Hau_! not much _iron_ about you," jeered his tormentor in a
great mocking voice. "_Whau_! I did not do that," he laughed, as some
of the crowd behind wantonly or accidentally jogged his elbow, causing
the blade of the assegai to pierce the chest of Kazimbi, eliciting from
that unfortunate a startled shriek, for the wound was a deep one, and
the blood spurted forth in a warm jet. The bystanders yelled with
laughter. The jest was excellent.

"I did not do it, but now I will." And maddened by the sight of blood,
the ferocious savage drove the broad spear blade up to the hilt into the
chest of the miserable Swazi, and continuing the blow by a swift,
powerful, down-stroke, ripped open the whole body, which fell to the
earth a horrible weltering mass. Raising their terrific war-cry, these
human wolves clustered around it, stabbing, ripping, hacking, till soon
the only distinguishable remains of the wretched Kazimbi was his
bleeding heart, plucked out and reared aloft upon an assegai point.

This shocking and appalling scene the two white spectators of it were
powerless to prevent. Themselves hemmed in by the fierce crowd, now
infuriate in its growing blood-lust, their own lives hung upon no more
than a hair. Another of the wretched Swazis was set upon and
barbarously slaughtered, and then Gerard could stand it no longer.
Scattering all considerations of prudence to the winds, he threw himself
in front of the three remaining victims, and drawing his revolver--as
being more readily handled than the gun which he carried--presented it
full at the mass of infuriated