owed exhaustion--mercifully, the exhaustion of
approaching death.

"He is dying!" cried several, bending over the victim. "_Hau_! A man
like Vudana should have taken much longer to die."

This was said in a disappointed tone. The barbarous appetite of these
savages was thoroughly roused--whetted for further atrocities. A shout
arose.

"The white man! The white man! What shall we do with him?"

Well might Eustace start, in horror and dismay. But a glance served to
show that the object of attention was not himself, but somebody at the
other end of the crowd, in which direction all heads were turned. Then
as the crowd parted a moment he caught a glimpse of something--somebody
rather--which evoked a second start, this time one of very unequivocal
amazement. Could he believe his eyes?

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A STRANGE DUEL.

In the midst of the savage throng was another white man, also a
prisoner, who had been forced to assist at the barbarous scene just
detailed. His lot, however, had been cast in far worse lines than that
of Eustace, for his hands were tightly fastened behind his back and a
_reim_ connected his ankles in such wise that he could only take short
steps--which painful fact he would every now and then forget, with the
result of just so many ignominious "croppers." Whereat his dusky
tormentors would shout with gleeful laughter.

In addition to his bonds the unfortunate man appeared to have undergone
considerable maltreatment. His hair and beard were matted with dust and
blood, and his head was rudely bandaged with rags of the filthiest
description. He was clad in a greasy and tattered shirt, and trousers
to match--his own clothes having been impounded by his captors.
Moreover there were livid wales upon his face and hands, and such parts
of his person as were visible through his ragged apparel, which showed
that he had been unmercifully beaten. Well might Eustace start in
amazement, absolute and unfeigned. In this pitiable object he
recognised Tom Carhayes.

He gazed at him speechless--as at one who has risen from the dead. If
ever he could have sworn to any man's death it would have been to that
of the man before him. He had seen the assegais flash in the air and
descend--had heard the dull, sickening blows of the kerries which had
beaten the life out of his unfortunate cousin. Yet, here stood the
latter--not exactly unhurt, but yet full of life.

"_Hau_, Umlilwane!" said Hlanga