outburst. Through it Fleetwood managed to call out:

"That is not true, son of Malamu. By accident did the gun go off."

"By accident!" echoed the listeners. "By accident! _Whau_!" And
shouts of jeering laughter went up at this.

"By accident, I repeat," said Fleetwood, calmly. "See. There must be
not a few here who know me. Have such ever found me a liar?"

But for some reason this appeal met with no response. The threatening
clamour increased, and amid it there were murmurs of death by fire, or
the black ants. The chiefs word had gone forth that no swift and easy
death should fall on those who withstood his terms. How could a chief
go back on his word? It must stand. Thus they murmured.

Fleetwood glanced at Wyvern to see if he had understood, and he hoped
not. But his own heart sank. He knew this Laliswayo, as one of the
most prominent and relentless leaders of the Usutu faction, a man
bitterly hostile to the whites since the war, and, worst of all, a man
who loved popularity. Could he now refuse to accede to the demand of
his followers or restrain their barbarous and bloodthirsty aspirations?
If not, why--they two had better have blown their own brains out while
they could.

Then a diversion occurred.

Mtezani, during the disturbance, had been standing aloof against the
further side of the _scherm_ watching events. That he could have been
of no use whatever to the sorely harassed pair by coming forward he
fully knew, but by keeping in the background until the psychological
moment it was just possible he might be. So with the true philosophy of
the savage he had kept in the background accordingly.

Now they had discovered him. In the tumult of rushing the _scherm_ he
had been overlooked as one of themselves, and now, with the discovery, a
clamour arose that he should be killed. He, a Qulusi, the son of a
chief ilke Majendwa, to go over to the Sibepu and Hamu faction, and take
sides against the King, why death was the least he deserved. Thus they
raved, and a ring of spears and infuriated countenances threatened him.
But Mtezani sitting on the ground, got out his snuff-horn, and passed it
on to Hlabulana as calmly as if they were not there.

Then they jeered at him. He had become the white man's dog--Sibepu's
dog. He was in with those who were supplying arms and ammunition to be
used against them, the side of the nation, the larger side, which was
loyal to its King. And, jeering, their