an hour, the usual speed of a
Matabele 'regiment' on the warpath.

Two hundred yards or so from us they pulled up, and one or two _indunas_
or officers came forward. The Kaffirs were able to converse with the
men, at any rate to understand their demands, and it appeared that I was
summoned to give up my oxen, my stock of provisions, and my rifles and
ammunition. When I should have done so to their satisfaction, I should
be permitted to proceed to Bulawayo.

'To get my throat cut long before I got near the town!' said I. 'Tell
them if they want my property they had better come and take it.'

This reply evidently did not please our friends, who returned to their
main force looking wicked, and muttering I don't know what threats. Then
I saw the entire _impi_ spread itself out in a kind of semi-circle as
though in preparation for attack; but instead of attacking us at once,
as I expected, the men all sat down and ate the provisions they had
brought with them. Doubtless it was their dinner-time and they saw no
reason why they should not refresh themselves. _We_ were caught all
right--they had us in their power and they knew it. It was the delay
that saved our lives, of course; for if they had 'rushed' us then and
there, nothing in the world would have saved us from destruction.

We employed our time in attempting to strengthen our defences; that is,
we brought stones from the river and built up a kind of little wall
underneath the waggon so that at least no one should attack us from
below; as for ourselves we got into the waggon, and I was busy teaching
Dicky how to load my Winchester quickly, when the second Kaffir uttered
an exclamation:--

'See--see!' he cried. 'See, master, a Matabele coming over the water!'

I looked up. Sure enough a 'nigger' was swimming the river, which was
deep just at this place and about thirty yards in width.

I was about to raise my rifle to shoot the fellow, for at first sight it
appeared to be an attack in the rear; but something about the man caused
me to look closer; I seemed to know the face, which, though dark, was
not quite so dusky as the usual complexion of the Mashona fellows,
neither was the type of face that of the Matabeles.

I set down my rifle and waited until he should land. It had occurred to
me that this might be Umkopo. A moment or two later he climbed
ashore--it was Umkopo, sure enough.

'Umkopo!' I hailed him--'it is you!' I saw the youth stand and gaze at
me. He w