Hadden’s first plan was to head for Rorke’s Drift, but a glance to the left showed him that the masses of the Undi barred that way, so he fled straight on, leaving his path to fortune.  In five minutes he was over a ridge, and there was nothing of the battle to be seen, in ten all sounds of it had died away, for few guns were fired in the dread race to Fugitive’s Drift, and the assegai makes no noise.  In some strange fashion, even at this moment, the contrast between the dreadful scene of blood and turmoil that he had left, and the peaceful face of Nature over which he was passing, came home to his brain vividly.  Here birds sang and cattle grazed; here the sun shone undimmed by the smoke of cannon, only high up in the blue and silent air long streams of vultures could be seen winging their way to the Plain of Isandhlwana.

The ground was very rough, and Hadden’s horse began to tire.  He looked over his shoulder—­there some two hundred yards behind came the Zulu, grim as Death, unswerving as Fate.  He examined the pistol in his belt; there was but one undischarged cartridge left, all the rest had been fired and the pouch was empty.  Well, one bullet should be enough for one savage:  the question was should he stop and use it now?  No, he might miss or fail to kill the man; he was on horseback and his foe on foot, surely he could tire him out.

A while passed, and they dashed through a little stream.  It seemed familiar to Hadden.  Yes, that was the pool where he used to bathe when he was the guest of Umgona, the father of Nanea; and there on the knoll to his right were the huts, or rather the remains of them, for they had been burnt with fire.  What chance had brought him to this place, he wondered; then again he looked behind him at Nahoon, who seemed to read his thoughts, for he shook his spear and pointed to the ruined kraal.

On he went at speed for here the land was level, and to his joy he lost sight of his pursuer.  But presently there came a mile of rocky ground, and when it was past, glancing back he saw that Nahoon was once more in his old place.  His horse’s strength was almost spent, but Hadden spurred it forward blindly, whither he knew not.  Now he was travelling along a strip of turf and ahead of him he heard the music of a river, while to his left rose a high bank.  Presently the turf bent inwards and there, not twenty yards away from him, was a Kaffir hut standing on the brink of a river.  He looked at it, yes, it was the hut of that accursed inyanga, the Bee, and standing by the fence of it was none other than the Bee herself.  At the sight of her the exhausted horse swerved violently, stumbled and came to the ground, where it lay panting.  Hadden was thrown from the saddle but sprang to his feet unhurt.

“Ah!  Black Heart, is it you?  What news of the battle, Black Heart?” cried the Bee in a mocking voice.

“Help me, mother, I am pursued,” he gasped.

“What of it, Black Heart, it is but by one tired man.  Stand then and face him, for now Black Heart and White Heart are together again.  You will not?  Then away to the forest and seek shelter among the dead who await you there.  Tell me, tell me, was it the face of Nanea that I saw beneath the waters a while ago?  Good! bear my greetings to her when you two meet in the House of the Dead.”