and they proved to be
right.

Meanwhile, we set to work to strengthen the position in all ways
possible. Almost every man was turned out, and in the course of the
day, which seemed far too short, much was done. The paths up the
hill--that was rather a sanatorium than a fortress, being used
generally as the camping place of regiments suffering from recent
service in unhealthy portions of the country--were carefully blocked
with masses of stones, and every other approach was made as impregnable
as time would allow. Piles of boulders were collected at various spots
to be rolled down upon an advancing enemy, stations were appointed to
the different regiments, and all preparation was made which our joint
ingenuity could suggest.

Just before sundown, as we rested after our toil, we perceived a small
company of men advancing towards us from the direction of Loo, one of
whom bore a palm leaf in his hand for a sign that he came as a herald.

As he drew near, Ignosi, Infadoos, one or two chiefs and ourselves,
went down to the foot of the mountain to meet him. He was a
gallant-looking fellow, wearing the regulation leopard-skin cloak.

"Greeting!" he cried, as he came; "the king's greeting to those who
make unholy war against the king; the lion's greeting to the jackals
that snarl around his heels."

"Speak," I said.

"These are the king's words. Surrender to the king's mercy ere a worse
thing befall you. Already the shoulder has been torn from the black
bull, and the king drives him bleeding about the camp."[1]

"What are Twala's terms?" I asked from curiosity.

"His terms are merciful, worthy of a great king. These are the words of
Twala, the one-eyed, the mighty, the husband of a thousand wives, lord
of the Kukuanas, keeper of the Great Road (Solomon's Road), beloved of
the Strange Ones who sit in silence at the mountains yonder (the Three
Witches), Calf of the Black Cow, Elephant whose tread shakes the earth,
Terror of the evil-doer, Ostrich whose feet devour the desert, huge
One, black One, wise One, king from generation to generation! these are
the words of Twala: 'I will have mercy and be satisfied with a little
blood. One in every ten shall die, the rest shall go free; but the
white man Incubu, who slew Scragga my son, and the black man his
servant, who pretends to my throne, and Infadoos my brother, who brews
rebellion against me, these shall die by torture as an offering to the
Silent Ones.' Such are the merc