by the white men or by the
Amatongas. The rest of their followers had made their escape, finding
their way back as they could, and their position, perfectly alone among
the savage tribe, their safety hanging only on the cupidity of the
treacherous Umhleswa, was most critical. For two days after Luji's
death, all had seemed quiet in the kraal, but then a party had sprung up
among the men, some of whom had been urged on by the dead chief's wife
to avenge on the two white men his death. This party had gradually
grown stronger, and its members never lost an opportunity of showing
their hate; indeed it was on more than one occasion only the fear of the
deadly rifles which kept them from open violence.

There they sat before their hut, under the shade of the tree, feeling
and looking disconsolate enough. It was the eighth day since they had
again taken possession of it, and not once had they seen Umhleswa during
that period. A good provision of manioc flour had been conveyed to
them. Their shot guns had supplied them with small game, for they dared
not venture far from the kraal, for fear of awakening suspicion, and
even as it was, found themselves closely watched.

The two had just finished a supper they had cooked themselves. They
were both fully armed, and near them, within reach of their hands, lay
their rifles. The sun had set, the air was warm, and the breeze
scarcely moved the leaves of the tree overhead. Before them lay
stretched the plain with its belt of forest-land, and in the distance
the faint line of the Matopo hills. Close by, the densely populated
kraal, the blue smoke from many fires curling up into the air. The hum
of the bees was heard as they winged their way homewards towards the
forest, and above them in the tree the cries of the parrots, as they
quarrelled before composing themselves to sleep. Rising and shading his
face with his hand, Hughes gazed in the direction of the kraal. A
solitary figure was wending his way through the huts, coming towards
them.

"It's weary work this," he remarked, as he sat down again with a sigh,
"keeping watch and watch all day, and dividing the night between us,
too. It's a weary life. What can have become of Masheesh?"

"The Matabele brave has cared for his own skin, and has fled to the
mountains, like the rest of them," replied the missionary.

"I thought better of him," said Hughes, absently, "and I am sorry I was
wrong."

"Look, is not that Umhles