But the latter was up to this stale dodge—indeed, I myself had put him up to it. Springing lightly aside, in time to avoid by a hair’s-breadth a blow that would have shattered his kneecap and set him up with a highly respectable limp that would have lasted him for the term of his natural life, he shot out his right fist in such wise as to catch his assailant smack full on the side of the jaw. The big Zulu went down like a shot buck hit in full course.
“He’s out!” cried Falkner. “John, tell ’em to put up their next man.”
But before Jan Boom could render this injunction or not render it, the whole lot had sprung to their feet and a mighty hubbub ensued. They had seized their weapons, and were gesticulating and pointing at Falkner: in fact, working themselves up to a state of wild and dangerous excitement. It was as well, perhaps, that unseen by them I was near enough to interpose.
“Hold!” I roared. “Hold! What means this? And who are ye that rush into my camp with weapons in your hands?”
As I said, I had approached unseen, and now the very suddenness of my appearance availed to stay the tumult, for a moment. But only for a moment. “Who are we? Au! Mlungu! that is no matter. Your oxen have eaten up our corn and now you must make it good. You must make it good we say.”
“Umlúngu” meaning simply “white man” was impudent, especially as I was sure some, if not all, of these knew me. At that moment I took in that they were all young men, of any age not much overtopping twenty, consequently at the most reckless and mischievous stage of human existence.
“Go—go,” I answered. “Send your fathers here. I talk not with children.”
The hubbub grew deafening and they drew in closer—growling, chattering in their fine deep voices, pointing viciously at us with their blades. My taunt had exasperated them to a dangerous degree. One fellow went so far as to dance out from among the rest and gwaza at me with his assegai, and all were brandishing theirs and closing in upon us nearer and nearer. I have always made a point of never being afraid of savages, but really when you get an irresponsible young ruffian lunging an eighteen-inch assegai blade within half that distance of your nose, and he backed up by thirty others, the situation begins to have its skeery side.
“Keep ’em steady a minute, Glanton, while I get out our ‘barkers’,” said Falkner. “That’ll start ’em to the rightabout double quick.”
“No. Better leave that. They’re only blowing off steam.”