ve restrained these
hot bloods at such a moment, yet this one was determined to do it,
although the process was not much safer than that of attempting to
snatch a bone from a hungry mastiff.

"You are boys, therefore foolish," he cried. "If you slay the son of a
chief how long will it be before the English carry the word to the Great
Great One's ears? Then--good-night!"

This told--as no other argument would have told. They held their hands,
though some muttered that both should be slain to make things all the
safer. And the white man so far had displayed no weapon. In fact he
had none.

"Get up, son of Tyingoza," he said, "and get back to thine own side of
the river, which it was foolish to leave."

The wounded youth managed to stagger to his feet, the white man aiding
him. Several of those who had fallen did likewise, the conquerors
sullenly drawing off, to help their own stricken comrades. And what a
scene the place presented. Broken knobkerries and broken heads,
battered shields and twisted limbs, and red, nauseous, sticky pools
glittering among the grass. Three of those fallen would never rise
again. And what was it all about? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"_Au_! it is Iqalaqala," muttered the young Zulus, as the white man
assisted the chief's son to cross the river. "Fare thee well,
Iqalaqala. We have but played at a fight. _Au_! It was only play."

And that is how I come into the story.

CHAPTER TWO.

GODFREY GLANTON--TRADER.

It was hot. Away on the skyline the jagged peaks of Kahlamba rose in a
shimmer of haze. In front and below, the same shimmer was upon the
great sweep of green and gold bush. The far winding of the Tugela shone
here and there through the billowy undulations of the same, and above, a
gleam of silver where Umzinyati's waters babbled on to join it. So,
too, over the far expanse of warrior Zululand--peaceful enough now to
outward aspect in all conscience--the slumbrous yet far from enervating
heat of mid-afternoon still brooded.

Yes, it was hot, decidedly hot, and I remarked thereupon to Tyingoza,
who agreed with me of course. Every well-bred native agrees with you--
that is to say pretty well every native--and Tyingoza was a well-bred
native, being of Umtetwa breed--the royal clan what time Tshaka the
Usurper, Tshaka the Great, Tshaka the Genius, Tshaka the Terrible, shook
up the dry bones and made the nation of Zulu to live. Incidentally
Tyingoza was the