“Broken!” he growled. “Woman weak—where Hu-em?”
She stretched herself on the ledge, and, reaching over, grasped the shoulder-strap from which his bag was suspended.
“No good,” he panted; then, in Zulu, he muttered: “It is a far drop, and every bone will be broken. To die like this. Inkosikasi!”
“Well!” she gasped.
“A gun is near. Find it and shoot! So Sirayo dies! Go—find.”
“Hold on—help comes. If you fall you drag me. Frank!”
There was a movement by her side, fingers felt along her outstretched hands, then closed upon the warrior’s wrist in a grasp of iron, and Hume, shutting his teeth, put forth all his strength.
There was a scramble, a sob, the sound of deep panting breaths, and Sirayo was saved. Hume, with a cold sweat on his brow, fell back, almost swooning from the fierce throbbing of his eyes. Laura gave way to a fit of crying, and Sirayo, crawling along the ledge, lay at full length, breathing deeply.
If the enemy had come now, not one of them could have lifted a finger in defence.