As soon as night fell, Amaxosa set out for East Utah, armed with Grenville’s revolvers, and determined if possible to discover what had happened to his beloved chief.
Obtaining access to the town, as before, by the river, which was now reduced to its normal state, he prowled about in the shade, running awful risks, but hearing and seeing nothing, and was just about to leave the place in despair, when observing a number of Mormons approaching, he shrank back into a dark alley between two houses.
The band he sought to avoid was met at this point—in fact, directly opposite to his hiding-place—by a detachment travelling in the opposite direction, both parties stopping and entering into conversation.
The Zulu watched them like a lynx, but what was his astonishment and even delight to behold the master whom he had believed to be dead, standing amongst his enemies; with great chains upon his hands and feet, it is true, yet still alive and well, and preserving upon his face the impress of that habitual coolness and determined bravery which had so won upon the heart of this untutored savage.
With longing eyes Amaxosa gazed upon his friend, but he was a shrewd man as well as a courageous one, and he foresaw that any attempt at a rescue could at this moment have no good result, but rather the reverse.
Just as the two bands parted, Grenville was forced up against the wall, and quick as lightning the Zulu shot out his hand and dropped a small pistol into his friend’s coat-pocket. So neatly was the action performed that our hero, who had been roused out of his sleep, and led away to be interviewed, he was told, by the Holy Three, did not know what had happened, thinking he had only knocked his side against a corner; but on moving his hand directly after, his forearm struck something heavy, and carefully feeling in his pocket, his fingers closed like a vice on his own favourite Derringer, and in an instant he realised that he had stood within a foot or two of his devoted Zulu friend without knowing it. Cautiously hiding the pistol in his breast, where his chained hands could more easily reach it, he found himself once more ushered into the presence of the Mormon Trinity.
As soon as the guards had retired, which they did at a sign from the Mormon prophet, the triumvirate commenced to question Grenville upon the number of his friends, the quantity of their ammunition, the range of their weapons, and so forth.
To all these reiterated inquiries he made no answer save an amused smile.
Then Brother Ishmael Warden, as usual, lost his temper.
“Dog of an Englishman!” he thundered, “answer or you die.”