ng. To and fro he moves in front of
Umslopogaas, his spear poised to strike. Groan-Maker swoops down, but
the man leaps back, the blow misses, and the Slaughterer's guard is
down.

"A poor stroke, Sorcerer!" cries the man as he rushes in to stab him.
Lo! the axe wheels in the air, it circles swiftly low down by the
ground; it smites upward. Before the spearsman can strike the horn of
Groan-Maker has sped from chin to brain.

"But a good return, fool!" says Umslopogaas.

"Two!" cries Galazi, from the right.

"Two! my brother," answers Umslopogaas.

Again two men come on, one against each, to find no better luck. The cry
of "Three!" passes from brother to brother, and after it rises the cry
of "Four!"

Now Faku bids the men who are left to hold their shields together and
push the two from the mouths of the paths, and this they do, losing four
more men at the hands of the brethren before it is done.

"Now we are on the open! Ring them round and down with them!" cries
Faku.

But who shall ring round Groan-Maker that shines on all sides at once,
Groan-Maker who falls heavily no more, but pecks and pecks and pecks
like a wood-bird on a tree, and never pecks in vain? Who shall ring
round those feet swifter than the Sassaby of the plains? Wow! He is
here! He is there! He is a sorcerer! Death is in his hand, and death
looks out of his eyes!

Galazi lives yet, for still there comes the sound of the Watcher as it
thunders on the shields, and the Wolf's hoarse cry of the number of the
slain. He has a score of wounds, yet he fights on! his leg is almost
hewn from him with an axe, yet he fights on! His back is pierced again
and again, yet he fights on! But two are left alive before him, one
twists round and spears him from behind. He heeds it not, but smites
down the foe in front. Then he turns and, whirling the Watcher on high,
brings him down for the last time, and so mightily that the man before
him is crushed like an egg.

Galazi brushes the blood from his eyes and glares round on the dead.
"All! Slaughterer," he cries.

"All save two, my brother," comes the answer, sounding above the clash
of steel and the sound of smitten shields.

Now the Wolf would come to him, but cannot, for his life ebbs.

"Fare you well, my brother! Death is good! Thus, indeed, I would die,
for I have made me a mat of men to lie on," he cried with a great voice.

"Fare you well! Sleep softly, Wolf!" came the answer. "All save one!"

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