A stab from Saduko’s spear, which he partially parried, wounded him slightly on the head, and cut loose the fillet of his ostrich plume, that same plume which I had seen blown off in the morning, so that it fell to the ground.  Another stab pierced his right arm, making it helpless.  He snatched the assegai with his left hand, striving to continue the fight, and just at that moment we came up.

“What are you doing, Saduko?” I cried.  “Does a dog bite his own master?”

He turned and stared at me; both of them stared at me.

“Aye, Macumazahn,” he answered in an icy voice, “sometimes when it is starving and that full-fed master has snatched away its bone.  Nay, stand aside, Macumazahn” (for, although I was quite unarmed, I had stepped between them), “lest you should share the fate of this woman-thief.”

“Not I, Saduko,” I cried, for this sight made me mad, “unless you murder me.”

Then Umbelazi spoke in a hollow voice, sobbing out his words: 

“I thank you, White Man, yet do as this snake bids you—­this snake that has lived in my kraal and fed out of my cup.  Let him have his fill of vengeance because of the woman who bewitched me—­yes, because of the sorceress who has brought me and thousands to the dust.  Have you heard, Macumazahn, of the great deed of this son of Matiwane?  Have you heard that all the while he was a traitor in the pay of Cetewayo, and that he went over, with the regiments of his command, to the Usutu just when the battle hung upon the turn?  Come, Traitor, here is my heart—­the heart that loved and trusted you.  Strike—­strike hard!”

“Out of the way, Macumazahn!” hissed Saduko.  But I would not stir.

He sprang at me, and, though I put up the best fight that I could in my injured state, got his hands about my throat and began to choke me.  Scowl ran to help me, but his wound—­for he was hurt—­or his utter exhaustion took effect on him.  Or perhaps it was excitement.  At any rate, he fell down in a fit.  I thought that all was over, when again I heard Umbelazi’s voice, and felt Saduko’s grip loosen at my throat, and sat up.

“Dog,” said the Prince, “where is your assegai?” And as he spoke he threw it from him into the river beneath, for he had picked it up while we struggled, but, as I noted, retained his own.  “Now, dog, why do I not kill you, as would have been easy but now?  I will tell you.  Because I will not mix the blood of a traitor with my own.  See!” He set the haft of his broad spear upon the rock and bent forward over the blade.  “You and your witch-wife have brought me to nothing, O Saduko.  My blood, and the blood of all who clung to me, is on your head.  Your name shall stink for ever in the nostrils of all true men, and I whom you have betrayed—­I, the Prince Umbelazi—­will haunt you while you live; yes, my spirit shall enter into you, and when you die—­ah! then we’ll meet again.  Tell this tale to the white men, Macumazahn, my friend, on whom be honour and blessings.”