As it
was, he only saw the same dark resolute countenances and ringed heads,
the same great broad-bladed assegais. These men, however, carried great
white shields with black facings.

"Who are you, _Umlungu_, and where do you come from?" said one of them
after a moment of silence.

Gerard looked at the speaker, and collecting his ideas, replied, with
all the dignity at his command, that he was carrying a message to the
king.

A smothered ejaculation burst from the group, and they exchanged
glances.

"Does a white man, carrying a message to the king, travel through the
country in that state?" said the first who had spoken.

Gerard followed his glance, and appreciated the meaning with which the
words were uttered, as he remembered the travel-worn and rather
disreputable appearance which he must present. His rifle, too, was
beginning to rust, for in the fatigue and exhaustion which had come upon
him before falling asleep, he had neglected to do more than just wipe
it. The broken hunting-knife was still spliced to the muzzle.

"I lost my horse, and an alligator attacked me in the river," he
replied. "I speared him with this, struck him through the eye, and I
believe I killed him."

"_Hau_!" broke from the listeners, staring at the broken knife-blade.
"That was well done, _Umlungu_. But--where do you come from?"

"Who is your chief?" said Gerard, fencing the question after their own
fashion.

"He is not here," was the characteristic reply. "But he is close at
hand."

"Take me to him."

And Gerard rose, as decisive apparently in purpose as he was in speech.

"Come!" said the spokesman, laconically.

Then, with Gerard in their midst, the group moved off. For upwards of
half an hour they filed through the bush at a rapid pace, in process
whereof Gerard's attempts at further enlightenment were met by an
intimation, terse but not discourteous, that under present circumstances
silence was preferable to speech. But he noticed one thing, overlooked
at first in his despair and confusion. These warriors, whoever they
might be, did not show the red-painted disc on forehead and breast which
distinguished the dreaded Igazipuza.

The way had grown wilder and wilder, and instead of the straggling and
more or less scattered bush, the party was now proceeding beneath tall
forest trees, from whose gnarled and massive boughs dangled monkey ropes
and trailers. The shade was almost a gloom, into which the last rays