“Why do you linger here among the dead, when on the other side there is plenty of beer and merriment? And what was the white man doing crawling around the rock?”
“And why have you left the feast to question me?”
“These questions are through my mouth, but they come from Umkomaas, the chief. He would have you near him, and he has sent a message.”
“Hu-em!” said Sirayo, while his nostrils expanded; “the time has come. Say what shall it be—one last fight, or, like an old lion weary of life, shall we die as we stand without a sound or a movement? I care not.”
“Why,” said Hume, “they are peaceful men;” but he brought his heavy rifle forward and stood beside the chief with his back to the rock.
“I know your message,” said Sirayo in his deep voice. “I can see it in your eyes, that fear to look straight. You carry it under your blankets, and it has a sharp edge to it. Stop!” he thundered, as there was a movement among the men. “I have a word to say to you. Let slip your blankets; the air is warm, and I know what you hold beneath them.”
The blankets slipped to the ground, and every man stood revealed with a stabbing assegai in his hand.
“Soh! It is well. Look around on the dead and tell me who they are.”
“Amazulus!” was the sullen cry.
“Yebo—Amazulus; and they lie as still as the blades of grass beneath them. Look, and think how ye would have fared, had not Sirayo fought against them. Where to-day would have been your flocks and your women? Sirayo is a great chief; it is because he is great that Umkomaas has sent you each with a message—Umkomaas, who was drawn by these hands out of the hole. Do you think that men such as you can slay me?” and he took a stride towards them.