“Do not shoot him,” answered Miss Anstrade.
“Shoot him! Good heavens, no! Is it Sirayo?”
“Yebo!”
Hume sprang over the boxes, and ran with outstretched hands to the great warrior, who had led the last charge at the battle of Ulundi, and had distinguished himself in a hundred desperate fights.
“Why are you fighting against us, Sirayo, my friend?”
“I was told you were bad people. So I came here to kill or die. What matters it? Sirayo is no longer a chief, his assegai is at anyone’s command.”
“Come in, my friend. We are not bad; these people have three times tried to steal our cattle, now they would take our lives. We are but four, and one is a woman.”
“Tell me the story,” said the Zulu, “and I will listen.”
Hume told him all that had occurred, and when he had finished Sirayo turned once more, dragged a thorn-bush away, and stepping through, advanced into the open.
Hume stood anxiously waiting, and Webster, coming to his side, asked if he should shoot.