crouching form stealing upon him.

"Yavuma!" cried the Hunter's voice, giving the Kaffir war-cry as he
swung his terrible weapon at a foe.

"Yavuma '" cried Muata, with the jackal snarling by his side. "Fire,
little great one, into the thick."

It was very well to say fire, but Compton could not tell friend from
foe until, bending low, he made out that while two men had their
backs to the cliff there were others around them in an enclosing
ring. Judging these were the enemy, though he could make out no
distinguishing point, he went down on his knee and fired rapidly.

A man dashed by him towards the gorge, and the rest who could
followed. One gave a slashing left-hand stroke with a long sword as
he went by the kneeling marksman, and Compton went down in a heap.
The man paused to finish his work, but with a savage roar the Hunter
leapt forward and bore him to the ground.

At the heels of the flying men went the jackal, and after him, soft-
footed, went Muata, still-voiced.

The fight was over. Mr. Hume picked Dick up and carried him into the
cave.

"A light," said the Hunter.

Venning, with his head throbbing, crawled feebly to where the
lantern was, lit it with trembling fingers, and, sitting up, threw
the light on the two forms--on the one face, beaded, working still
with the fury of the fight; on the other, still, white, and blood-
stained.

The boy's hand shook more violently, and in his weakness he sobbed.

"Put the lantern down," said Mr. Hume, fiercely.

Quickly he staunched the flow of blood, cut away the hair, and then,
with an impatient look at the sobbing boy, lowered the head he was
supporting, and searched for liniment, ointment, and restoratives.

Bending over his task, he worked with skilful fingers, and then,
with a sigh, watched the white face intently. Then he went outside
to listen, to bend over the figures lying still in the darkness, and
returning, built up the fire.

Venning watched him return to Dick, saw the long, anxious scrutiny,
and then burst out crying as he saw a look of relief come into the
rugged face.

"Don't worry, lad; he'll pick up."

"I know you think I'm no good," was the boy's heartbroken reply.

Mr. Home was at his side. "Nonsense, lad. I know what it is to have
a touch of fever; and besides, I believe it was you who gave
warning."

"I heard some one calling Ngonyama," said the boy, in a whisper,
"and I saw the face in the entrance--the same face I saw down