n that speech was apt to be a little unsteady.

"I say, Prior!" cried one devil-may-care fellow, who had borne a tiger's
share in the fight. "How about `The Governor of North Carolina'? We
must drink Thornhill's health. He saved this blooming camp."

"_Ja-ja_, he did," was the response on all sides.

"Oh damn all that for bosh!" was the half savage, half weary, comment on
the part of him named.

There was a laugh--a somewhat nervous laugh--the effect of the strain.

"All right," said Prior. "Elvesdon has some stuff, but we mustn't clean
him out of it all, you know. Ugh! These dead devils look rather
disgusting," for he was not used to the sight of bloodshed. "We must
keep the women from seeing them."

"Master," said a timid voice, on the outskirts of the crowd. "I make
good dinner now for all gentlemen?"

There was a roar of laughter and a cheer. The voice had proceeded from
Ramasam, Thornhill's Indian cook, who had spent the time of the fight in
the kitchen of Elvesdon's house, green with scare.

"Well done, Ramsammy. So you shall," cried Prior.

"Zulu nigger all run away now, masters?" queried the Indian. Whereat
the roar redoubled--the point of the joke being that the speaker was a
very black specimen of a Madrassi, some shades darker than the darkest
of those he had defined as "Zulu nigger."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

"CAN THE `ETHIOPIAN' CHANCE HIS SKIN?"

"Well, we've managed to run our necks into a nice tight noose,
Thornhill," was Elvesdon's first remark as he realised that they were
virtually prisoners in the hands of insurrectionary savages, which meant
that their position would grow more and more dangerous every day.

"The next thing is to get them out of it," rejoined Thornhill fighting
his pipe, and puffing away calmly as he walked.

"What about the ladies--will they be safe?"

"Oh yes. If they'd wanted them they'd have brought them along with us."

"Sure?"

"Dead cert."

Elvesdon felt immeasurably relieved. Now, more than ever; now that he
was separated from her; might never even see her again; he realised what
Edala had become to him. She had fascinated him from the very first,
and of late had become part of his life. But it would not do to give
way to depression. If Thornhill, who knew these people better than he
did, had no anxiety about his daughter's ultimate safety, why surely he
himself need have none.

"You see, this hasn't come to anything as yet," went on T