resolved that one or other of them should not leave
that spot alive. Thornhill spoke again.

"I am tired of you, Manamandhla. You can leave this place, do you hear?
and it will not be well for you to come near it again. You are of no
further use to me. So you may go. _Hamba gahle_."

But these last words of farewell, which the speaker intended should
signal Manamandhla's departure in a very different sense, were scarcely
uttered. A dark form, the form of a man, immediately behind the Zulu,
and in a direct line with him, loomed through the mist; and the voice of
old Patolo, the cattle-herd, was raised in greeting to his master. The
latter knew that his opportunity had passed. He could not shoot
Manamandhla in the presence of a witness, and of course the could not
shoot old Patolo at all.

"_Nkose_," said the latter. "I fear that the cattle will be difficult
to collect in the thickness of this cloud. But those that remain out
will not stray far, and we can collect them in the morning."

"One has fallen over this cliff, Patolo," said Manamandhla, as calmly as
though no deadly tragedy had been averted by a mere moment of time.
Then to Thornhill: "_Nkose_, had I not better go over to the location
and collect some boys to skin and cut up the beef? It may be that there
is some of it yet uninjured and good enough for the Great House."

"That you had better do, Manamandhla," answered Thornhill, with equal
_sang-froid_. "And lose no time, before it grows dark."

And, turning, he left them, to go back to where he had left his horse.

This was how Manamandhla obtained the beef he hankered after--and plenty
of it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

MANAMANDHLA'S STRATEGY.

A week went by, and Thornhill got an answer to his letter. His son
could not possibly get away just then. His partner was seriously ill,
and as for business--why, if not as brisk as might be wished, there was
quite enough of it to keep one man's hands full. He was awfully sorry,
but would take a run down as soon as ever he could break away. So wrote
Hyland.

Thornhill was bitterly disappointed. He seemed to feel it far more than
he had thought it possible for him to do. He would have given much at
that juncture to have had the boy at his side, he told himself. He felt
very isolated, very much alone. Edala, though now and then she broke
out into fits of playfulness--and these, he suspected, were, more often
than not, forced--yet kept up a sor