of the smooth barrel, loaded heavily with
_loepers_--a large variety of buck shot--into the dense crowd. The
result was terrible.

It was all he had time to do, though. The wild, shrill yells of pain
were drowned in the thunderous din, as the resistless volume of the
charge poured over him. He had a vague recollection of once again
raking the closely packed assailants with his other barrel ere he was
swept from his feet, and hurled half-stunned to the earth, and of a
fierce, grim feeling of satisfaction that he had sold his life pretty
dearly. Then the gleaming blades of spears flashed before, his eyes,
and he knew his last hour had come.

Still their points did not pierce him. Half-stunned, half-dazed, he
became aware that some one was standing over him, averting the
threatened blows. Collecting his scattered senses, he stared and stared
again at this unexpected preserver. He recognised Vunawayo.

He was seized and held fast, and amid many a brutal kick and blow, his
hands and feet were securely bound, and he was flung into the waggon
like a log of wood. Then with wild yells and shouting, the Igazipuza
forced round the oxen, and compelling the terrified servants to obey
their behests, and lead and drive the spans, they started upon their
triumphant return amid an indescribable scene of tumultuous rejoicing.

At the first onset Sintoba had drawn the assegai which he carried
concealed about his person, and had leaped to the assistance of his
master. Had tried to, that is, for he, too, had been overwhelmed and
borne down by the impetuous fury of the rush. The same fate had
overtaken those in charge of the hindmost waggon, except one of the
young leaders whom the savages had slaughtered in the first fierce
caprice of their blood-lust, and whose corpse, ripped up and otherwise
hideously hacked, lay by the wayside as they returned. The other
servants, as we have said, they compelled to engineer the waggons.

Battered, bruised, his bones nearly broken, his joints racked well-nigh
to dislocation point by the terrific jolting, poor Dawes lay where they
had thrown him, grinding his teeth in his impotent rage and pain.
Better to have been killed outright, he thought. He was only spared for
some lingering torture--the hideous stake of impalement, most likely.
Many had fallen at his hand in that brief moment--their spirits would be
satisfied by no less a sacrifice.

The savages, running beside the waggons, jeered