Nteseni nodded and went out of the hut. There was nothing extraordinary in this, and the new arrival sat there, letting his tongue go freely, uttering, for the most part, sheer inventions—plausible inventions. The while, he would never fail to pause so as to draw forth the comments of his hearers. These, on their side, met him upon his own ground; whether he was taken in or not they could not tell, but by that time it was to them a matter of sheer indifference either way. Nteseni, who had long since re-entered, was, for him, the most communicative.
Now Teliso was a brave man, even braver than those of his race who had distinguished themselves on the battlefield, in that he took risks as a matter of business and in cold blood, such as they would never have dreamed of taking. But such risks, great as some of them had been, especially of late, were as nothing to that which he was taking now. And—all of a sudden he knew it.
His hand dropped carelessly to the right hand pocket of his coat—he had acquired European ways so there was nothing extraordinary about this move. Yet there was nothing whatever to have excited any suspicion on his part. Not a sound had arisen outside. His entertainers sat as before; no weapons were even visible. Old Zisiso seemed half drowsy, and the same held good of Nteseni, while the other two, Babatyana and Nxala were pursuing the conversation in an even, interested tone of voice. No—it was hard to say where any suggestion of peril might have come in, unless it was that wondrous, well-nigh supernatural intuition characteristic of the savage. Yet at that moment Teliso, realised that he had never been in deadlier peril in his life; no, not even when as a very young umfana he had raced, with bursting heart, and stumbling steps, and labouring lungs, with the flying Native Contingent, for the roaring, flooded passage of Umzinyati river, driven like dust before the wind by Cetywayo’s pursuing victorious destroyers at Isandhlwana.
At this moment he realised that he had one chance, but a desperate one. He must shoot down, and that with lightning rapidity, at least two out of these four, and one of the two must be Nteseni, but—what a responsibility! Then too, he was but imperfectly skilled in the handling of the weapon which he had instinctively brought for his own protection. He hesitated, and—was lost.
“What is that, brother?” said Nteseni, seizing, with a grip of iron, the wrist of the hand which held the butt of the concealed revolver. At the same time, Nxala who was seated on the other side had pinioned his arms. Both were powerful men, and against them Teliso had not the ghost of a chance, even if Babatyana had not taken the opportunity of slipping the noose of a hitherto concealed thong round his ankles, and drawing it tight. Clearly it was useless to struggle, and in a moment he was securely bound.
“Was this needed among ‘thine own people,’ dog of Ntwezi?” said Nteseni, holding up the revolver which he had drawn from the prisoner’s pocket.
“No longer am! Ntwezi’s dog,” answered the latter.
“And was it not wisdom to bring away a useful weapon against when the time comes?”
“Ah—ah! ‘When the time comes.’ But the time has come—for thee, dog of Ntwezi,” sneered the chief. “There are those who talk with the tongue of the Amangisi who heard Ntwezi himself tell another of thine errand here to-night.”
“And that other?” queried the prisoner.