“We met before at Madeira,” said Hume grimly; and as the light increased the scowling faces of the three men stood out.
“Mother of God! what a sight! His eyes are red and look out from a black mask.”
“He is like a devil,” muttered Gobo; and, with his gun at his hip, he pressed the trigger.
“Baleka!” cried a warrior, pushing in. “Sirayo eats our men up by the lone rock, and men are swarming across the river for this place.”
“To the mountain!” cried Gobo, turning to fly.
“Not I!” cried the Captain furiously.
“Nor I!” said Ferrara.
And the two dashed at Hume.
He fired and the Captain fell; but Ferrara gripped him by the throat, and the two reeled about in a fierce struggle, and in their ears, though without conveying much meaning, there came the sound of shouting beyond the walls. As they stood for a spell, gasping for breath to renew the struggle, they heard the Zulus calling to each other to fly, and Ferrara by a terrific effort hurled Hume away, sent him staggering, to fall heavily over the heap of fallen stones, then himself vanished into the underground passage, a moment before the little son of Umkomaas dashed into the ruined chamber at the head of his victorious warriors.