ble to all, a clean cut in the cord jacket--yet no
sign of blood.

"_Au_! He does not bleed! He does not bleed!" ejaculated the crowd
again.

By this time the numbers of the latter had augmented. Having given up
the chase of the other two whites, or leaving it to their advance
guards, the Kafirs swarmed back by twos and threes to where the
gathering crowd showed that something unusual was going on.

The chief drew a knife from his girdle and bent once more over the
prostrate form. But his purpose was not at present a bloodthirsty one,
for he only held the broad blade across the livid lips. Then raising it
he scrutinised it keenly. The bright steel was ever so slightly dimmed.

"Ha!" he exclaimed in a tone of satisfaction, rising to his feet after
repeating the operation. Then he issued his orders, with the result
that poor Eustace was lifted on to a stout blanket, and four men,
advancing, shouldered a corner apiece and thus, with their living burden
in their midst, the whole band moved away down the kloof.

After about two hours' marching, during which the country grew wilder
and more wooded, they halted at a water-hole--one of a chain of several
in the otherwise dried-up bed of a stream. Eustace was gently lowered
to the ground, and, squatting around him, his bearers began to watch him
with a great and gathering curiosity, for he was beginning to show signs
of returning life.

At a rapid signal from the chief, water was fetched from the hole and
his brow and face bathed. A tremor ran through his frame and a sigh
escaped him. Then he opened his eyes.

"_Hau_!" exclaimed the Kafirs, bending eagerly forward.

At sight of the ring of dark faces gazing upon him in the gathering
dusk, Eustace raised his head with a slight start. Then, as
recollection returned to him, he sank wearily back. His head was
aching, too, as if it would split. He would be fortunate if the blow
which had deprived him of consciousness did not end in concussion of the
brain.

With the return of consciousness came a feeling of intense gratification
that he was still alive. This may seem a superfluous statement, yet
not. Many a man waking to the consciousness that he was a helpless
captive in the power of fierce and ruthless barbarians, has prayed with
all his soul for the mercy of a swift and certain death, and has done so
with a grim and terrible earnestness. Not so, however, Eustace Milne.
He had something to live for now.