“The wisdom of the Child is in you,” he replied.  “I shall surrender with you, Macumazana, and take my chance.”

Then he turned and explained things to his followers, who spoke together for a moment.  In the end these took a strange and, to my mind, a very heroic decision.  Waiting till the attacking Kendah were quite close to us, with the exception of three men, who either because they lacked courage or for some other reason, stayed with us, they advanced humbly as though to make submission.  A number of the Black Kendah dismounted and ran up, I suppose to take them prisoners.  The men waited till these were all round them.  Then with a yell of “The Child!” they sprang forward, taking the enemy unawares and fighting like demons, inflicted great loss upon them before they fell themselves covered with wounds.

“Brave men indeed!” said Marut approvingly.  “Well, now they are all at peace with the Child, where doubtless we shall find them ere long.”

I nodded but answered nothing.  To tell the truth, I was too much engaged in nursing the remains of my own courage to enter into conversation about that of other people.

This fierce and cunning stratagem of desperate men which had cost their enemies so dear, seemed to infuriate the Black Kendah.

At us came the whole mob of them—­we were but six now—­roaring “Jana!  Jana!” and led by a grey-beard who, to judge from the number of silver chains upon his breast and his other trappings, seemed to be a great man among them.  When they were about fifty yards away and I was preparing for the worst, a shot rang out from above and behind me.  At the same instant Greybeard threw his arms wide and letting fall the spear he held, pitched from his horse, evidently stone dead.  I glanced back and saw Hans, the corn-cob pipe still in his mouth and the little rifle, “Intombi,” still at his shoulder.  He had fired from the back of the camel, I think for the first time that day, and whether by chance or through good marksmanship, I do not know, had killed this man.

His sudden and unexpected end seemed to fill the Black Kendah with grief and dismay.  Halting in their charge they gathered round him, while a fierce-looking middle-aged man, also adorned with much barbaric finery, dismounted to examine him.

“That is Simba the King,” said Marut, “and the slain one is his uncle, Goru, the great general who brought him up from a babe.”

“Then I wish I had another cartridge left for the nephew,” I began and stopped, for Hans was speaking to me.

“Good-bye, Baas,” he said, “I must go, for I cannot load ‘Intombi’ on the back of this beast.  If you meet your reverend father the Predikant before I do, tell him to make a nice place ready for me among the fires.”

Then before I could get out an answer, Hans dragged his camel round; as I have said, it was quite uninjured.  Urging it to a shambling gallop with blows of the rifle stock, he departed at a great rate, not towards the home of the Child but up the hill into a brake of giant grass mingled with thorn trees that grew quite close at hand.  Here with startling suddenness both he and the camel vanished away.