These, who had only just come up and were pushing a way through the crowd, which parted for them as well as it could, recognised the speaker.
“What is the meaning of it?” cried the latter. “You Laliswayo, who are a chief—what does this mean? There is no war.”
“Why as to that, nothing is sure, U’ Joe,” answered the chief. “You, and Kulisani there, must give up your weapons and you can go.”
“And our oxen have all been speared. Can we drag our waggons ourselves?”
“For that I know nothing nor care,” was the answer. “As to the waggons these will lighten them for you.”
A howl of delight went up from the listeners, who had attained to some degree of quietude while the chief was speaking.
“Take your choice,” went on the latter, seeing that they hesitated and were rapidly conferring together. “Look at these,” waving a hand over the expectant crowd, which having already tasted blood was hungry for more. “You may kill one or two, or even three, but you cannot kill all. And then, no swift and easy death will yours be.”
The tone of hostility underlying this frank threat, was not disguised.
“You, Laliswayo, will be the first to die.”
Fleetwood’s tone was sternly determined. He had covered the chief with his rifle.