“But—what of U’ Joe?” answered Wyvern. “Where is he? I cannot desert him.”
“U’ Joe? He is gone,” rejoined the young Zulu, impatiently. “Are you tired of life, Kulisani? If not, go too—while there is time.”
Wyvern hesitated no longer. Gripping his rude weapon he jumped up and made for the nearest cover, just as, his escape being discovered, several of his late tormentors sprang with shouts in his pursuit.
Chapter Twenty Eight.
Hunted.
On, on through the forest shades the hunted man sped, the voices of his pursuers, like hounds upon a trail, sounding deep behind him. Though strong and otherwise athletic, he was in no condition for running, especially for keeping up a long chase, the chasers being wiry, untiring savages.
The ground, too, became rough and stony, and this taxed his powers still more. His aim was to reach the rocks and holes on the Lebombo slopes; could he do so while yet at a fair distance from his enemies he stood just a chance. They might look for him for ever there, or again they might just hit upon the right place.
He set his teeth firm, and with elbows to his sides, kept on, husbanding his wind like a trained sprinter. The while, bitter thoughts surged through his mind; for it was bitter to die just then, tenfold so now that Lalanté was within his reach at last; now that a means of escape had been afforded him. He thought of Joe Fleetwood too, and wondered if he had managed to get clear away and if so in what direction. They had been separated by some little distance what time the snake-torture had begun, and if the other’s liberation had been effected in the same way as his own, even as Mtezani had given him to understand, why then it is probable that Fleetwood would head in the direction he himself was taking, to find refuge among the caves and krantzes around the spot where the object of their search lay hidden.