ooked him round the ankle, at the same time
striking up with all my force. My fist caught him beneath the
chin and over he went backwards sprawling on the ground.

"Son of a dog!" I said, "if a single stick touches me, at least
you shall go first," and whipping out my revolver, I pointed it
at him.

He lay quiet enough, but how the matter would have ended I do not
know, for passion was running high, had not Goza at this moment
risen with a bleeding nose and called out--

"O Fools, would you kill the king's guest to whom the king
himself has given safe-conduct. Surely you are pots full of
beer, not men."

"Why not?" answered one. "This is the Place of Soldiers. The
king's house is yonder. Give the old jackal a start of a length
of ten assegais. If he reaches it first, he can shake hands with
his friend, the king. If not we will make him into medicine."

"Yes, yes, run for it, Jackal," clamoured the others, knocking
their shields with their sticks, as men do who would frighten a
buck, and opening out to make a road for me.

Now while all this was going on, with some kind of sixth sense I
had noted a big man whose face was shrouded by a blanket thrown
over his head, who very quietly had joined these drunken rioters,
and vaguely wondered who he might be.

"I will not run," I said slowly, "that I may be saved by the
king. Nay, I will die here, though some of you shall die first.
Go to the king, Goza, and tell him how his servants have served
his guest," and I lifted my pistol, waiting till the first stick
touched me to put a bullet through the bully on the ground.

"There is no need," said a deep voice that proceeded from the
draped man of whom I have spoken, "for the king has come to see
for himself."

Then the blanket was thrown back, revealing Cetewayo grown fat
and much aged since last I saw him, but undoubtedly Cetewayo.

"Bayete!" roared the mob in salute, while some of those who had
been most active in the tumult tried to slip away.

"Let no man stir," said Cetewayo, and they stood as though they
were rooted to the ground, while I slipped my pistol back into my
pocket.

"Who are you, White Man?" he asked, looking at me, "and what do
you here?"

"The King should know Macumazahn," I answered, lifting my hat,
"whom Dingaan knew, whom Panda knew well, and whom the King knew
before he was a king."

"Yes, I know you," he answered, "although since we spoke together
you have shrunk like an oxhide