“Black Heart! your turn, Black Heart the traitor!” he rushed at Hadden, his eyes rolling and foam flying from his lips, as he passed striking the chief Maputa from his horse with a backward blow of his hand.  Ill would it have gone with the white man if Nahoon had caught him.  But he could not come at him, for the soldiers sprang upon him and notwithstanding his fearful struggles they pulled him to the ground, as at certain festivals the Zulu regiments with their naked hands pull down a bull in the presence of the king.

“Cast him over before he can work more mischief,” said a voice.  But the captain cried out, “Nay, nay, he is sacred; the fire from Heaven has fallen on his brain, and we may not harm him, else evil would overtake us all.  Bind him hand and foot, and bear him tenderly to where he can be cared for.  Surely I thought that these evil-doers were giving us too little trouble, and thus it has proved.”

So they set themselves to make fast Nahoon’s hands and wrists, using as much gentleness as they might, for among the Zulus a lunatic is accounted holy.  It was no easy task, and it took time.

Hadden glanced around him, and saw his opportunity.  On the ground close beside him lay his rifle, where one of the soldiers had placed it, and about a dozen yards away Maputa’s pony was grazing.  With a swift movement, he seized the Martini and five seconds later he was on the back of the pony, heading for the Crocodile Drift at a gallop.  So quickly indeed did he execute this masterly retreat, that occupied as they all were in binding Nahoon, for half a minute or more none of the soldiers noticed what had happened.  Then Maputa chanced to see, and waddled after him to the top of the rise, screaming:—­

“The white thief, he has stolen my horse, and the gun too, the gun that he promised to give me.”

Hadden, who by this time was a hundred yards away, heard him clearly, and a rage filled his heart.  This man had made an open murderer of him; more, he had been the means of robbing him of the girl for whose sake he had dipped his hands in these iniquities.  He glanced over his shoulder; Maputa was still running, and alone.  Yes, there was time; at any rate he would risk it.

Pulling up the pony with a jerk, he leapt from its back, slipping his arm through the rein with an almost simultaneous movement.  As it chanced, and as he had hoped would be the case, the animal was a trained shooting horse, and stood still.  Hadden planted his feet firmly on the ground and drawing a deep breath, he cocked the rifle and covered the advancing chief.  Now Maputa saw his purpose and with a yell of terror turned to fly.  Hadden waited a second to get the sight fair on his broad back, then just as the soldiers appeared above the rise he pressed the trigger.  He was a noted shot, and in this instance his skill did not fail him; for, before he heard the bullet tell, Maputa flung his arms wide and plunged to the ground dead.