“Yeh-bo! Inxele,” echoed the bystanders. “We will bring him to life again and ask him,” and a rush was made for the spot where Bully Rawson had fallen, stunned and unconscious.
He was no longer there.
Then, indeed, surprise, consternation, was their portion. Why he had been almost killed—so nearly so indeed that they had not thought it worth the trouble of securing him. When he came to they had intended to put him through a few hours of discomfort in which live ashes would play a prominent part, as a preliminary to abolishing him from Zululand in particular and this terrestrial orb in general, and now he had disappeared. The thing was incredible. It was a thing of tagati.
How could it have been? How could he have slipped through and got clean away? It was true they had forgotten him in the excitement of these other two whites and the fight between Mtezani and Tulazi, but how could he get away unseen? Further, he was nearly killed. Well, he could not have gone far.
With shouts of ferocious anticipation they started to quarter the surroundings in search of him—the scherm had been pulled down from the very first. No—he could not have gone far, and when they did find him, why then a long reckoning would have to be paid for the guns supplied to the enemies of the King.
Like hounds they quartered the ground in every direction. No sign of their quest. Then the bush line was entered. Here they would have him. He could not go far. Oh no. He could not go far.
But whether he could go far or not, certain it was that they failed to find him. They searched and searched, far beyond the distance he could possibly have reached within the time, but all to no purpose. Well there were still two upon whom they could wreak a cruel vengeance, and now, all the savage aroused within them, they turned back, discussing what they should do with these other two when the chief had given them over, as of course he would.