smen had been shot dead; while another, whose hand hung
limp and useless, was setting his teeth as Dr Ahern was hastily
bandaging the shattered wrist.

"What think you, Somala?" said the doctor, looking up from this
operation. "Will they leave us alone now?"

"Not yet, Sidi. The best of Mushad's fighters are yonder. They have
not done much fighting as yet."

"If they take it into their heads to invest us, we are done for," said
Haviland, "unless we can break through in the dark. Why, we have hardly
enough water to last till then."

"The battle will be finished before to-night," said the Arab, decidedly.

"Well, when we have given Mushad as much fighting as he wants, then I
suppose he'll draw off," said Oakley. "So the sooner he comes on again
the better."

"You cannot know much about Mushad, Sidi. He never leaves an enemy once
blows have been exchanged," replied the Arab, darkly. "The battle will
be decided before night. But Mushad will be slain--or--"

"Or we shall. So be it, Somala. We'll do our best."

There followed a lull; ominous, oppressive. Hostilities seemed entirely
to have ceased, but they had implicit belief in Somala's sagacity, and
his forecast was not exactly encouraging. They were striving against
enormous odds, and, although thus far they had triumphed, the pick of
the hostile force had not yet been used against them, even as the Arab
had said. The enforced stillness was not good for their nerves. A
reaction had set in. The dead and dying within their circle--for three
more of the porters had been killed and several of the refugees badly
wounded--were groaning in pain; the acrid stench of blood arising on the
steamy tropical heat had a tendency to throw a gloom over, at any rate,
the white members of the expedition. It was as well, perhaps, that a
diversion should occur, and this was supplied by Kumbelwa. A vast and
cavernous snore fell upon their ears, then another and another. His
great frame stretched at full length upon the ground, his broad blade
still sticky with half-dried blood, together with his rifle lying upon
his war-shield beside him, the Zulu warrior was fast asleep, slumbering
as peacefully and as unconcernedly as though in his own kraal at home,
in that crater-like hollow beneath the towering round-topped cone of
Ibabanango. Oakley and Haviland burst out laughing.

"Well, he is a cool customer, and no mistake!" cried the former. "I've
a jolly good mind to fo