“E-hé, Nkose.”
“Who are leading these?”
The man looked at him, and shook his head. But he made no reply. Hyland repeated the question.
“I cannot betray my chiefs,” was the answer.
“Oh then you’ll have your brains blown out,” came the savage rejoinder. But it was not uttered by Hyland. It came from the man whom he had prevented from lighting a pipe. He had drawn a revolver and was pointing it right into the face of the Zulu. But in a moment Hyland’s arm flew up, and the pistol, jerked from the other’s grasp, spun away into the air.
“I have the promise of Ugwala,” said the savage, calmly, showing no sign whatever of trepidation.
“That’s quite right,” said Prior emphatically. “Damn it. The fellow’s quite right not to give away his chiefs. Hallo—what’s up now? Here, sergeant, shove him into the lock-up with leg-irons on. We can’t have him escaping just now, anyway.”
All possibility of any pursuance of the quarrel on the part of the aggrieved Jenkins was at an end—for the present at any rate. All hands saw that which told that their work was by no means done. They would need all their coolness and energy for the next half hour—after that, things wouldn’t much matter either way. The horses were picketed inside, and outside the defences a large enclosure had been hastily constructed of thorn bushes, and into this the trek oxen were driven at night, making quite a respectable herd. Three sides of this kraal were well covered by the fire of the defenders, but the fourth, of course, was not. Losing no time after their first repulse the assailants had, with incredible rapidity, breached this fence and were driving out the whole herd. But not as spoil—no not yet. For them they had another purpose, and grasping its import the defenders realised what new peril threatened.
Away up the valley the oxen had been driven by a number told off for the purpose, and now they were returning. By this time the animals were becoming uneasy and excited—tossing their heads and throwing up their tails, and bellowing wildly as they ran.
“Here, Prior. Is there any paraffin about, or kerosene?” asked Hyland eagerly. “Because I have an idea. Only—sharp’s the word.”