he approaches were well-known to
Gerard, who was thus able to guide his party straight to the point by
which alone it was accessible.

"See, there!" exclaimed Nkumbi-ka-zulu, suddenly, touching his arm.
"_Au_! the wizards!"

They had got the face of the great rock pyramid almost in section.
Looking up, Gerard beheld with a shudder the hanging bodies, which he
had first seen from a distance. They were very near now, quite near
enough to make out the features of the tortured victims, who, however,
appeared to be dead, for they hung motionless against the cliff.
Shuddering again, Gerard recognised in the drawn, ghastly countenances
those of the three Swazis.

There were still only the three, yet from this he augured no good thing.
That horrible stake on the apex of the mount--he could not see that.
Did it, too, hold its tortured writhing victim? What had they done with
John Dawes, with Sintoba, Fulani, and the other natives? And then he
began to hope that for some purpose they might yet have been spared. If
so, it might not be too late.

"Now, Nkumbi," he whispered eagerly. "Up we go! This is the side. I
will be first at the top; do you keep close behind me. There cannot be
many up there. The place will not hold more than a few, and besides,
all their fighting force will be busy with Sobuza."

As they drew near the summit of the gruesome rock of death, a strange,
unwonted stillness reigned. Could it be that the place was deserted?
Had the savages already accomplished their horrible work and gone away?
Gerard's heart beat like a hammer as he climbed the last bit of steep
rocky path, and he could hardly see. His brain seemed to swim.

Suddenly a strange, rumbling, scuffling sound met his ears, the sound as
of a struggle. Mingling with it were quick, deep-toned ejaculations. A
wave of a great relief surged round his heart, for he recognised one of
the voices. He was not, then, too late.

In a moment he gained the summit, and this was what he saw.

In the centre of the depressed hollow, arrayed in all the grotesque and
hideous paraphernalia of a witch-doctor, the great lion's skin draping
him from head to foot, stood Ingonyana, surrounded by half a dozen
warriors. Beside him rose the grim, pointed stake, empty now, and ready
to receive another victim. And the victim was there. Struggling in the
grasp of four athletic savages, struggling with all the might of a
powerful and sinewy frame, bound as he wa