I should have known better, for I
had no weapon but the big Turkish dagger I carried and used for a
hunting-knife, but she wished to. "Tell me about this Senecoza," she asked, and I welcomed the
opportunity. And then I thought: what could I tell her? That hyenas
had eaten a small chief of the Masai? That the natives feared the
fetish-man? That he had looked at her? And then the girl screamed as out of the tall grass leaped a vague
shape, half-seen in the moonlight. I felt a heavy, hairy form crash against my shoulders; keen fangs
ripped my upflung arm. I went to the earth, fighting with frenzied
horror. My jacket was slit to ribbons and the fangs were at my throat
before I found and drew my knife and stabbed, blindly and savagely. I
felt my blade rip into my foe, and then, like a shadow, it was gone. I
staggered to my feet, somewhat shaken. The girl caught and steadied me. [Illustration: "He felt a heavy hairy form crash against his shoulder."] "What was it?" she gasped, leading me toward the stockade. "A hyena," I answered. "I could tell by the scent. But I never heard of
one attacking like that." She shuddered. Later on, after my torn arm had been bandaged, she
came close to me and said in a wondrously subdued voice, "Steve, I've
decided not to go to the village, if you don't want me to." *       *       *       *       *

After the wounds on my arm had became scars Ellen and I resumed our
rides, as might be expected. One day we had wandered rather far out on
the veldt, and she challenged me to a race. Her horse easily distanced
mine, and she stopped and waited for me, laughing. She had stopped on a sort of kopje, and she pointed to a clump of trees
some distance away. "Trees!" she said gleefully. "Let's ride down there. There are so few
trees on the veldt." And she dashed away. I followed some instinctive caution, loosening my
pistol in its holster, and, drawing my knife, I thrust it down in my
boot so that it was entirely concealed. We were perhaps half-way to the trees when from the tall grass about us
leaped Senecoza and some twenty warriors. One seized the girl's bridle and the others rushed me. The one who
caught at Ellen went down with a bullet between his eyes, and another
crumpled at my second shot. Then a thrown war-club hurled me from the
saddle, half senseless, and as the blacks closed in on me I saw Ellen's
horse, driven frantic by the prick of a carelessly handled spear,
scream and rear, scattering the blacks who held her, and dash away at
headlong speed, the bit in her teeth. I saw Senecoza leap on my horse and give chase, flinging a savage
command over his shoulder; and both vanished over the kopje. The warriors bound me hand and foot and carried me into the trees. A hut stood among them--a native hut of thatch and bark. Somehow
the sight of it set me shuddering. It seemed to lurk, repellent and
indescribably malevolent amongst the trees; to hint of horrid and
obscene rites; of voodoo. I know not why it is, but the sight of a native hut, alone and hidden,
far from a village or tribe, always has to me a suggestion of nameless
horror. Perhaps that is because only a black who is crazed or one who
is so criminal that he has been exiled by his tribe will dwell that
way. In front of the hut they threw me down. "When Senecoza returns with the girl," said they, "you will enter." And
they laughed like fiends. Then, leaving one black to see that I did not
escape, they left. The black who remained kicked me viciously; he was a bestial-looking
negro, armed with a trade-musket. "They go to kill white men, fool!" he mocked me. "They go to the
ranches and trading-posts, first to that fool of an Englishman." Meaning Smith, the owner of a neighboring ranch. And he went on giving details. Senecoza had made the plot, he boasted. They would chase all the white men to the coast. "Senecoza is more than a man," he boasted. "You shall see, white man,"
lowering his voice and glancing about him, from beneath his low,
beetling brows; "you shall see the magic of Senecoza." And he grinned,
disclosing teeth filed to points. "Cannibal!" I ejaculated, involuntarily. "A Masai?" "No," he answered. "A man of Senecoza." "Who will kill no white men," I jeered. He scowled savagely. "I will kill you, white man." "You dare not." "That is true," he admitted, and added angrily, "Senecoza will kill you
himself." And meantime Ellen was riding like mad, gaining on the fetish-man, but
unable to ride toward the ranch, for he had gotten between and was
forcing her steadily out upon the veldt. The black unfastened my bonds. His line of reasoning was easy to see;
absurdly easy. He could not kill a prisoner of the fetish-man, but he
could kill him to prevent his escape. And he was maddened with the
blood-lust. Stepping back, he half-raised his trade-musket, watching me
as a snake watches a rabbit. It must have been about that time, as she afterward told me, that
Ellen's horse stumbled and threw her. Before she could rise, the black
had leaped from his horse and seized her in his arms. She screamed
and fought, but he gripped her, held her helpless and laughed at her. Tearing her jacket to pieces, he bound her arms and legs, remounted and
started back, carrying the half-fainting girl in front of him. Back in front of the hut I rose slowly. I rubbed my arms where the
ropes had been, moved a little closer to the black, stretched, stooped
and rubbed my legs; then with a catlike bound I was on him, my knife
flashing from my boot. The trade-musket crashed and the charge whizzed
above my head as I knocked up the barrel and closed with him. Hand to
hand, I would have been no match for the black giant; but I had the
knife. Clinched close together we were too close for him to use the
trade-musket for a club. He wasted time trying to do that, and with a
desperate effort I threw him off his balance and drove the dagger to
the hilt in his black chest. I wrenched it out again; I had no other weapon, for I could find no
more ammunition for the trade-musket. I had no idea which way Ellen had fled. I assumed she had gone toward
the ranch, and in that direction I took my way. Smith must be warned. The warriors were far ahead of me. Even then they might be creeping up
about the unsuspecting ranch. I had not covered a fourth of the distance, when a drumming of hoofs
behind me caused me to turn my head. Ellen's horse was thundering
toward me, riderless. I caught her as she raced past me, and managed to
stop her. The story was plain. The girl had either reached a place of
safety and had turned the horse loose, or what was much more likely,
had been captured, the horse escaping and fleeing toward the ranch, as
a horse will do. I gripped the saddle, torn with indecision. Finally I
leaped on the horse and sent her flying toward Smith's ranch. It was
not many miles; Smith must not be massacred by those black devils, and
I must find a gun if I expected to rescue the girl from Senecoza.