nce might easily remain unsuspected by the
casual wayfarer: knew, too, that not a mile of our advance but was
carefully watched and duly reported. In the Zululand of those days the
passage of a white man's waggons was an event, and that from more than
one point of view.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

TO BLOWS.

"Here come men, _Nkose_, and I think that they come to cause us
trouble," said Mfutela, shading his eyes to look up the road.

I followed his glance. A dark crowd was swarming over the ridge half a
mile in front, and in the then rising sun I could make out the glint of
assegai blades. That was nothing, since every man in Zululand at that
time seemed to make a point of moving about with as many assegais as he
could conveniently carry. But it was significant that at sight of us
they should have halted for a moment, and then come forward at a run,
shouting like mad.

"Is there to be no end to all these mischievous idiots and their larks?"
I said, sourly and in English. And yet at the time I felt not
altogether happy--things happen suddenly among savages. What if the
tension on the Transvaal border had already brought on an outbreak.

"Hallo! What's the row?" sang out Falkner, from the tent waggon, into
which he had dived to fetch something or other. "Any more fellows whose
heads want punching--eh, Glanton?"

"No," I answered more sourly still. "Keep those itching knuckles of
yours quiet for once--for Heaven's sake."

It was early morning as I have said, and we were in the act of
inspanning. We had camped in an open valley, and in front lay a long
acclivity of miry red track mapped out by ancient wheel ruts and
rendered diabolical by a heavy rainfall during the night. It was at the
head of this that the crowd had appeared, and looking at both I was all
the less disposed to meet opposition with the good humour which is
always advisable.

"Zulu nigga troublesome debbil," said Jan Boom, the Xosa, who was fond
of airing his English, and his contempt for those of his own colour who
"had none."

The new arrivals left us in no sort of doubt as to their intentions, for
they charged straight for us, and waving their weapons roared out to us
to stop.

"Tre-ek!" I yelled, seizing the whip from Mfutela, and letting out the
long lash in a couple of resounding cracks which had the effect of
making one fellow who was brandishing a war-axe within an ace of Tom's
nose--who was leading--skip aside with some alacrity