“Hamba gachle” (that is “Go softly"), said the wicked old tyrant to me as I departed under the guidance of Kambula.  “This afternoon, one hour before sundown, I will meet you at Hloma Amabutu, and there shall be settled the fate of these Amaboona, your companions.”

When I reached the camp it was to find all the Boers clustered together waiting for me, and with them the Reverend Mr. Owen and his people, including a Welsh servant of his, a woman of middle age who, I remember, was called Jane.

“Well,” said the Vrouw Prinsloo, “and what is your news, young man?”

“My news, aunt,” I answered, “is that one hour before sundown to-day I have to shoot vultures on the wing against the lives of all of you.  This you owe to that false-hearted hound Hernan Pereira, who told Dingaan that I am a magician.  Now Dingaan would prove it.  He thinks that only by magic can a man shoot soaring vultures with a bullet, and as he is determined to kill you all, except perhaps Marie, in the form of a bet he has set me a task which he believes to be impossible.  If I fail, the bet is lost, and so are your lives.  If I succeed I think your lives will be spared, since Kambula there tells me that the king always makes it a point of honour to pay his bets.  Now you have the truth, and I hope you like it,” and I laughed bitterly.

When I had finished a perfect storm of execration broke from the Boers.  If curses could have killed Pereira, surely he would have died upon the spot, wherever he might be.  Only two of them were silent, Marie, who turned very pale, poor girl, and her father.  Presently one of them, I think it was Meyer, rounded on him viciously and asked him what he thought now of that devil, his nephew.

“I think there must be some mistake,” answered Marais quietly, “since Hernan cannot have wished that we should all be put to death.”

“No,” shouted Meyer; “but he wished that Allan Quatermain should, which is just as bad; and now it has come about that once more our lives depend upon this English boy.”

“At any rate,” replied Marais, looking at me oddly, “it seems that he is not to be killed, whether he shoots the vultures or misses them.”

“That remains to be proved, mynheer,” I answered hotly, for the insinuation stung me.  “But please understand that if all of you, my companions, are to be slaughtered, and Marie is to be put among this black brute’s women, as he threatens, I have no wish to live on.”

“My God! does he threaten that?” said Marais.  “Surely you must have misunderstood him, Allan.”

“Do you think that I should lie to you on such a matter—­” I began.

But, before I could proceed, the Vrouw Prinsloo thrust herself between us, crying: 

“Be silent, you, Marais, and you too, Allan.  Is this a time that you should quarrel and upset yourself, Allan, so that when the trial comes you will shoot your worst and not your best?  And is this a time, Henri Marais, that you should throw insults at one on whom all our lives hang, instead of praying for God’s vengeance upon your accursed nephew?  Come, Allan, and take food.  I have fried the liver of that heifer which the king sent us; it is ready and very good.  After you have eaten it you must lie down and sleep a while.”