This was startling news indeed.  “Canoes in the valley?”

“In the valley itself; and our men are scattered here and there on the ridges at the mercy of these wolves, though they fight hard.  Ngonyama, tell me!”

“There is only one thing to do,” said Venning, joining in.

“I listen,” she cried, leaning forward.  “Quick, wise one.  You who played with the little ones at the huts, you who talk to the ants, tell me.”

“The one thing to do is to let the water in.”

“Ye mock me,” she cried fiercely.

“Let in the water, and the canoes will be dashed to pieces; the women and the little ones saved.”  “But how can this be done?”

“You know this place and the secrets of it.  Those holes behind you that look out on the valley were made by hands.  Is there no place where the wall is thin?”

The woman lifted up her hands and shouted a cry of exultation, then she ran swiftly, and they saw her presently standing above the V-shaped wedge in the wall, a deep scar in the cliff made by the fall of a portion of the rock.  With wonderful agility she climbed down to the apex and set to work on the face of the rock with a kind of maniacal fury.  When she climbed out to the top they saw she had drawn a square, with a mark at each corner plainly visible.

“Ngonyama, for the sake of the little ones and the women, for your own sakes, if ye wish to live, send a bullet to each mark.”

“By Jove!” said Venning, “that’s a good notion.  The rock must be thin there, and the force of the bullet should crack it.”

“Quick, white one.  I can hear the death-song of our warriors.  Quick, if ye would see the sun again.”

Mr. Hume raised his Express.  He saw the need as well as she for swift measures, and he planted each smashing shot on the little white mark at each corner of the square.

The square was starred with cracks from side to side, and before the echoes of the reports had ceased to roll and rumble through the vaults, there was a dark stain on the rock.

The water was coming through, but the woman, in her mad impatience, could not bear the delay.  Clambering down, she worked feverishly at the cracks with a spear-head, and with a sharp hiss a stream of water like steam shot out.

“Climb up,” roared Mr. Hume.

“Another thrust, Indhlovu, and a woman will have won.  One blow for the sake of my child—­the chief.”  Her long sinewy arm flew back, and she drove the spear-head into the crack.

Then came a tremendous report.  The block of loosened stone flew out as if propelled from a big gun, whizzed far out, and after it, with a deafening roar, flashed a white column, that widened as it leapt forward.  Spreading his arms, the Hunter threw himself back, bearing his companions with him, as a mass of water struck the platform on which they had stood.  As the flood poured through the opening, tearing and