ad in the dark
hours. Perhaps he was too old, he added with a whimsical smile.
Another day, when he should come over to hear the word of Udokotela as
to the hidden _muti_ then he would have more time.

Elvesdon and the clerk stood watching the forms of the old chief and his
one scarcely less aged attendant, as they receded up the valley.

"That's a grand old boy, Prior," said the former. "A dear old boy. If
we had a few more of his sort around here we needn't have bothered
ourselves about the lively times that any fool can see are sticking out
ahead of us."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The two old men held steadily on their way, walking with an ease and
elasticity that many a youth might have envied--over rough ground and
smooth--now and again sitting down to take snuff, which is far too
serious an operation to be performed during the process of locomotion.
As nearly as possible they travelled in a direct line, accomplishing
this by taking short cuts through the bush by tracks known to
themselves, but to a mounted man quite, impracticable, and so faint that
a white man would get hopelessly lost.

Following one of these, they were about to come out upon opener ground.
The sun had dropped, and in the black gloom of forest trees it would be
night in a very few minutes. In front however showed a temporary
lightening where the foliage thinned. Overhanging this opener ground
was a tumble of rocks and boulders rising to no great height.

"I would fain have been earlier, brother," murmured Zavula. "My eyes
are over old to see in the dark, and--"

He did not finish his words; instead he dropped to the earth, felled by
the murderous blow which had crashed upon his unsuspecting head from
behind. His companion sprang aside just in time to dodge a like blow
aimed at him, and raising his stick leaped furiously at the foremost
assailant, determined that one should die at any rate. It was a futile
resistance, for what could an old man with nothing but an ordinary stick
do against half a dozen armed miscreants. These sprang at him at once,
yet even then so energetic was his defence that they drew back for a
moment.

"Have done!" growled a voice from behind these. "Make an end. No--no
blood," as one fiend was poising an assegai for a throw. "Make an end,
fools, make an end."

"It is Nxala who hounds on these cowardly dogs," jeered this brave old
man, recognising the voi