ight not be
of solid use to his rescuers. He was a son--one of many--of a powerful
chief whose clan dwelt in the mountainous fastnesses in the north-west
of the country, and entirely and whole-heartedly attached to the cause
of the exiled and captive King. He, Mtezani, had thrown in his lot with
the other side, not through conviction, but to get the better of his
brothers, with whom he had quarrelled over the division of certain
cattle, their patrimony. Besides, he wanted to _tunga_, and take a
wife--he explained frankly enough to Fleetwood. He had heard that under
the chiefs set up by the English, any man was at liberty to do this
whenever he chose; whereas his father, Majendwa, was among the most
conservative of Zulus, and strongly objected to this young bull-calf
setting aside the traditions of the nation, and daring to aspire to the
head-ring without leave from the Great Great One--who, of course, was
not there to grant it. They had done him out of his cattle, he
declared, so that he should have no _lobola_ to offer for any girl.

This was a situation which, we may be sure, strongly appealed to Wyvern,
who reflected, whimsically enough, that he himself was much in the same
position. He accordingly took a great fancy to Mtezani, and the young
Zulu seemed to attach himself to him more than to Fleetwood. He would
invariably be with him when a hunt was afoot in the wild and broken
forest country they were then traversing; and for more than one
successful find of koodoo or impala, Wyvern had to thank Mtezani.

They fell in with no more contending impis. Now and again armed runners
would fetch up at their outspan, and when pressed for news would give
evasive replies, but these became fewer as, at last, through the great
tumbled, rolling forests, the precipitous savage rise of the Lebombo
range came into view.

"We are getting there at last, Wyvern," said Fleetwood one day. "But
there's one thing I must tell you that I hadn't bargained for, and a
most infernal nuisance it is too. I learn that almost bang on the scene
of our operations, a particularly obnoxious sweep named Rawson--Bully
Rawson--a white man, of course, has planted himself down. Now this
fellow is likely to prove a considerable thorn in our side, to give us
trouble, in fact."

"Why? Who is he?"

"Oh, as to that nobody knows, strictly, which likely enough is just as
well for him. He's nominally a trader like myself, but actually he's a
chief