ll
slap of tough hide shield opposed in parry. Already more are down,
still about even numbers on each side, and still these two combatants
strive on. Both are tall, supple youths, perfect models of proportion
and sinewy grace and strength. Then a sudden crunching sound, and the
blood is pouring from the head of one of them.

"One to thee, son of Tyingoza!" cries the wielder of the successful
stroke, nimbly swerving to avoid the return one.

"It was `white dog' but now," snarls the other, savagely, and with a
deft underswing of his knobstick delivering a numbing blow on the side
of his adversary's leg. It is a good blow, yet he is beginning to
stagger, half stunned, and blinded with his own blood.

"Ha! Give up, and run to the river, while there is time," jeers his
opponent, who is the leader of the Zulu party.

For answer, he who is apostrophised as the son of Tyingoza, rushes upon
the speaker with such a sudden access of apparently resistless ferocity,
that the latter is forced backward somewhat by the very fury of the
onslaught; but--such are the fortunes of war. Already the bulk of those
who have crossed from the Natal side are down, two of them stone dead--
and the rest, demoralised already, are plunging into the river and
striking out for their own shore. They cannot get to the aid of their
leader because of the foes who are pressing them hard, and barring their
way. The said foes, now victors, thus freed, turn to spring to the aid
of their own leader, and the whole group, uttering a loud bloodthirsty
shout hurls itself upon the son of Tyingoza. He, though he has given up
all hope, still battles valorously, when a stick, deftly hurled, strikes
him hard and full upon one shin, snapping the bone, and vanquished he
sinks to the earth, still instinctively holding up his shield to avert
the rain of blows showered upon him, and which, in a moment or so will
batter his skull to a pulp; for they see red now, those blood-frenzied
combatants, and no considerations of mercy will avail to stay their
murderous arms.

But that moment or so is destined to bring forth weighty results. There
has been a spectator of the whole affray unseen by the combatants, and
now he steps forth.

"Stand back!" he shouts, coming right between the slayers and their
prey. "Back, I say! He is down and ye are many. Let him live."

"No, he shall die. Out of our way, white man!"

None but a white man--or their own chief--could ha