“Where is he?” and Compton hunted for his rifle.

“Shot him; but, for all I knew, I might have shot you.  He fell in the river.  Perhaps there are more of them hiding.”

“You shot him?”

“Yes—­go along; but for goodness’ sake don’t let another one jump on you.”

Compton gripped his friend’s hand, then went on, very cautiously this time, for a little way, until he heard the crack of the Express, followed by the Hunter’s bull voice calling on the men to “stand fast.”  He dashed on.

“We are coming,” yelled Venning, in a voice that sounded very youthful; but keen ears heard the high treble, and to them it brought comfort.

“The chiefs white men,” was the cry that rose, that reached Mr. Hume as he fought coolly, warily, in a crisis of the battle, knowing that, if he gave back an inch, the men behind him would bolt, and Hassan’s horde would swarm into the valley.

“Hurrah, my brave lads!” he roared.  “You there behind, meet the white men and lead them up to the place where I first stood.”

“Yebo Inkose! (yes, chief)” cried a Zulu of the Angoni.

Thus the chief’s “white men” were met in the gorge by a dark figure panting heavily, who led them through other dark forms, some lying groaning, others silent—­led them up to a ledge that overlooked the enemy.

“What now?” asked Compton, looking at the Zulu, and in the better light noticing the wounds on his head and left arm.

The Zulu pointed down.  “Fire, O white men, between that tree and the rock.  There they are thickest.”

The two rifles flashed out simultaneously.

“Hurrah!” roared the Hunter from below.  “Give them the whole magazine.”

“Empty the magazines,” said Venning between his teeth; and the Lee-Metfords poured out a little rain of thin bullets into a space between the tree and the rock.

“Yavuma!” cried the Zulu.

“Yavuma!” roared the Hunter.  “Stand firm, my children!”

The Zulu knelt on the brink of the ledge and peered down into the gloom, out of which came the shouts of the enemy, thrown into confusion, when apparently all was going well with the attack.  An arrow struck on the rock, then another.

“The tree,” he said, pointing into a great tree-top.  “Let one chief fire into the tree and the other at the white spot.”

“I see the white spot,” said Compton; and again he emptied his magazine, while Venning riddled the tree-top, out of which at the discharge men dropped in haste.

“Cease firing,” came the command from below.  “Now, my children, forward once more.  They run.”

“They run!” shouted Muata’s men, as they swept out from the defile after Mr. Hume.

“At the white spot,” said the Zulu, gripping Compton by the arm.  “Fire; ye will not hurt our men.  There are men with guns where the white is; and, see, others join them.  Quick!  Shoot, white men, or they slay our friends.”