atever advantage might lie with the mounted men.
Moreover the horses, in no small degree blown after their recent spurt,
were not at their best, whereas the Kafir warriors, active, hard as
iron, had the advantage on that rough ground. On they pressed--their
lithe, sinuous, ochre-greased bodies flashing through the grass like
serpents--whooping, shouting, rending the air with their shrill,
ear-splitting war-whistles. Although many of them had guns, yet not a
shot was fired. Either those who led did not care to waste time in
stopping to aim, and those who were behind feared to injure their
friends in front; or for some reason of their own they were anxious to
capture the white men alive. On it sped, that fearful race, the
pursuers slowly but surely gaining. And now, from the swarming numbers
of the main body, "horns" began to spread out at an angle to the line of
flight as though to close up and intercept them further on, at some
point best known to themselves.

It was a case of every man for himself. Hoste and Payne had gained some
slight start, Eustace and Carhayes bringing up the rear. The latter,
gripping his revolver, was in the act of delivering a shot into the
thick of a mass of warriors who had raced up to within ten yards of
them, when his horse stumbled. The animal had put its foot into an
ant-bear hole concealed in the long grass. Down it came, plunging
heavily forward on its nose, and shooting its rider over its head.

A deafening roar of exultation went up from the pursuers as they flung
themselves upon Carhayes. Still, half-stunned as he was, the desperate
pluck of the unfortunate man caused him to make an effort to rise. Only
an effort though. As he rose to his knees he was beaten to the ground
in a moment beneath the savage blows of the kerries of his assailants.

Eustace heard the crash of the fall, and turning his head, in spite of
the deadly risk he ran in suffering his attention to wander from his own
course even for a second, he took in the whole scene--the crowd of
whooping, excited barbarians, clustering round the fallen man, assegais
and kerries waving in the air, then the dull, sickening sound of blows.
And even in that moment of deadly peril, his own fate as hopeless as
that of the slain man, a thrill of fierce exultation shot through him.
Fortune had once more played into his hands. Eanswyth was his. He had
got his second chance. This time it was out of his power to throw it
awa