For some hours they followed the bull, till at last they lost the trail on a patch of stony ground thickly covered with bush, and exhausted by the heat, sat down to rest and to eat some biltong or sun-dried flesh which they had with them.  They finished their meal, and were preparing to return to the camp, when one of the four Zulus who were with them went to drink at a little stream that ran at a distance of not more than ten paces away.  Half a minute later they heard a hideous grunting noise and a splashing of water, and saw the Zulu fly into the air.  All the while that they were eating, the wounded buffalo had been lying in wait for them under a thick bush on the banks of the streamlet, knowing—­cunning brute that he was—­that sooner or later his turn would come.  With a shout of consternation they rushed forward to see the bull vanish over the rise before Hadden could get a chance of firing at him, and to find their companion dying, for the great horn had pierced his lung.

“It is not a buffalo, it is a devil,” the poor fellow gasped, and expired.

“Devil or not, I mean to kill it,” exclaimed Hadden.  So leaving the others to carry the body of their comrade to camp, he started on accompanied by Nahoon only.  Now the ground was more open and the chase easier, for they sighted their quarry frequently, though they could not come near enough to fire.  Presently they travelled down a steep cliff.

“Do you know where we are?” asked Nahoon, pointing to a belt of forest opposite.  “That is Emagudu, the Home of the Dead—­and look, the bull heads thither.”

Hadden glanced round him.  It was true; yonder to the left were the Fall, the Pool of Doom, and the hut of the Bee.

“Very well,” he answered; “then we must head for it too.”

Nahoon halted.  “Surely you would not enter there,” he exclaimed.

“Surely I will,” replied Hadden, “but there is no need for you to do so if you are afraid.”

“I am afraid—­of ghosts,” said the Zulu, “but I will come.”

So they crossed the strip of turf, and entered the haunted wood.  It was a gloomy place indeed; the great wide-topped trees grew thick there shutting out the sight of the sky; moreover, the air in it which no breeze stirred, was heavy with the exhalations of rotting foliage.  There seemed to be no life here and no sound—­only now and again a loathsome spotted snake would uncoil itself and glide away, and now and again a heavy rotten bough fell with a crash.

Hadden was too intent upon the buffalo, however, to be much impressed by his surroundings.  He only remarked that the light would be bad for shooting, and went on.

They must have penetrated a mile or more into the forest when the sudden increase of blood upon the spoor told them that the bull’s wound was proving fatal to him.

“Run now,” said Hadden cheerfully.

“Nay, hamba gachle—­go softly—­” answered Nahoon, “the devil is dying, but he will try to play us another trick before he dies.”  And he went on peering ahead of him cautiously.