Already every available man on the estate had turned out, each armed either with a magazine rifle or a double-barrelled twelve-bore gun.
Some of the natives were good shots; others could not be trusted to hit a beehive hut at twenty yards. To the latter Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly had issued shot-guns. With luck, the wide-spreading shot might hit some human target. In any case, there was the moral effect of the loud report to be taken into consideration, and that told upon savage warriors almost as much as the more deadly rifles.
By this time Sibenga had brought his followers to within two hundred yards of the gate. By the Chief's side stood the witch-doctor, a truly hideous figure in his garb of monkey skins, red ochre and blue and white chalk.
The warriors made no attempt to surround the place. Had they done so, their tactics might almost to a certainty be crowned with success, for there was not enough defenders to man the outer wall.
Instead, Sibenga's followers were massed in a triple line, each man covered by his cow-hide shield, while right in front of the centre of the foremost rank stood the Chief and the witch-doctor, the latter apparently haranguing the warriors and promising them immunity from the white man's magic.
Colonel Narfield lost no time. He was a firm believer in taking the initiative. Calling to four of the best marksmen, he ordered them to take aim at Sibenga and the witch-doctor, while he stood by ready to fire should the others miss their objective.
Tenpenny Nail and Blue Fly were the two told off to bring down the witch-doctor, while the others, including the Colonel's personal servant, a Zanzibari, aimed at Sibenga's broad chest as he stood gazing at the house in which he hoped to find plenty of plunder.
The witch-doctor had finished his oration and had turned to confer with the Chief. The former raised his magic staff and shook it. Even as he did so four rifles spoke as one.
There was no need for Colonel Narfield to complete the business. The witch-doctor sprang a good four feet into the air, his hands clutching wildly. Then, uttering a blood-curdling yell, he pitched forward on his face, twitched his limbs for a second, and then lay still. Sibenga stood stock still for quite an appreciable time, then his legs gave way, and he dropped, first on his knees and then on his face.
Not only did the high-velocity bullets slay the principal men of the attacking party, but three or four warriors immediately behind Sibenga and the witch-doctor fell dead.