A man dashed by him towards the gorge, and the rest who could followed.  One gave a slashing left-hand stroke with a long sword as he went by the kneeling marksman, and Compton went down in a heap.  The man paused to finish his work, but with a savage roar the Hunter leapt forward and bore him to the ground.

At the heels of the flying men went the jackal, and after him, soft-footed, went Muata, still-voiced.

The fight was over.  Mr. Hume picked Dick up and carried him into the cave.

“A light,” said the Hunter.

Venning, with his head throbbing, crawled feebly to where the lantern was, lit it with trembling fingers, and, sitting up, threw the light on the two forms—­on the one face, beaded, working still with the fury of the fight; on the other, still, white, and blood-stained.

The boy’s hand shook more violently, and in his weakness he sobbed.

“Put the lantern down,” said Mr. Hume, fiercely.

Quickly he staunched the flow of blood, cut away the hair, and then, with an impatient look at the sobbing boy, lowered the head he was supporting, and searched for liniment, ointment, and restoratives.

Bending over his task, he worked with skilful fingers, and then, with a sigh, watched the white face intently.  Then he went outside to listen, to bend over the figures lying still in the darkness, and returning, built up the fire.

Venning watched him return to Dick, saw the long, anxious scrutiny, and then burst out crying as he saw a look of relief come into the rugged face.

“Don’t worry, lad; he’ll pick up.”

“I know you think I’m no good,” was the boy’s heartbroken reply.

Mr. Home was at his side.  “Nonsense, lad.  I know what it is to have a touch of fever; and besides, I believe it was you who gave warning.”

“I heard some one calling Ngonyama,” said the boy, in a whisper, “and I saw the face in the entrance—­the same face I saw down under there.  Were they the witches?”

“It was Hassan and some of his men.  They must have escaped from the river and remained in hiding.  I felt your hand in the night, and it woke me.  So, you see, you did your part.  Now rest, there’s a good chap.”

Mr. Hume made the boy a cooling drink, with a dose of quinine.

“I would have helped, if I could.”

“You did help,” said the Hunter, earnestly.  “If it had not been for you we should have been killed while we slept.  You saved our lives, just as you saved the valley by your thought of letting the water out.”

Venning was comforted.  He rose up on his elbow to have another look at Dick, saw that the colour was coming back into the white face, and leant back on his pillow.

In the morning Muata came into the cave, staggering like a drunken man from loss of blood, and at his heels limped the jackal with his tongue out.

“Well?” said the Hunter.