"Nyamaki has not returned?" queried Tyingoza, who, seated, in his
accustomed place under the window of the store, had been taking snuff
and chatting about things in general.
"Not that I have heard of," I answered. "I was at his place but a day
or two back. Will he return, Tyingoza?"
"And the young one--he who sits in Nyamaki's place--does he think he
will return?"
What was the object of this answer turned into another question? What
was in Tyingoza's mind? However I replied:
"He is inclined to think not. He thinks his relation has wandered away
somewhere--perhaps into the river, and will never be heard of again."
"Ah! Into the river! Well, that might be, Iqalaqala. Into the river!
The ways of you white people are strange, _impela_!"
Tyingoza, you see, was enigmatical, but then he often was, especially if
he thought I was trying to get behind his mind--as he put it. Clearly
he was not going to commit himself to any definite opinion regarding the
disappearing Hensley.
"Ukozi is in these parts," I went on.
"Ukozi? Ha! I have not seen him. Did he visit you here?"
"Not here," I answered, with intent to be as enigmatical as himself.
"Ukozi is a very lion among _izanusi_. Why do not the white people get
him to find Nyamaki?"
"And the practice of an _isanusi_ is not allowed by the white people.
How then can they make use of such?" I said.
The chief shrugged his shoulders slightly, and there was a humorous
twinkle in his eyes.
"It is as you say, Iqalaqala. Yet their _Amapolise_ cannot find him.
You white people know a great deal, but you do not know everything."
"Now, Tyingoza, I would ask: What people does?"
Then he laughed and so did I, and this was all I got out of my attempt
at "pumping" Tyingoza. Yet, not quite all. That suggestion of his as
to employing the witch doctor was destined to stick. Afterwards it was
destined to come back to me with very great force indeed.
Now I began to shut up the store, early in the day as it was, for I
meant to go over to the Sewins. It would be almost my last visit: for
the preparations for my trip were nearly complete and in two or three
days I proposed to start. Moreover I had received a note from the old
Major, couched in a reproachful vein on behalf of his family, to the
effect that I was becoming quite a stranger of late, and so forth; all
of which went to show that my plan of not giving them more of my company
than I thought they could do with--had answered.
"So you are going _kwa Zulu_ directly?" said Tyingoza, as he took his
leave. "And not alone. That is a pity."
He had never referred to Falkner's practical joke. Now, of course, I
thought he was referring to it.
"Well, the boy is only a boy," I answered. "I will keep him in order
once over there, that I promise."
Again his eyes twinkled, as he bade me farewell with all his usual
cordiality.
Not much of this remark did I think, as I took my way down the now well
worn bush path, but I own that the idea of employing Ukozi to throw
light on the disappearance of Hensley, gave me something to think of--
for as I have said before, I had reason to respect the powers claimed--
and undoubtedly possessed--by many of his craft. I would put it to
Kendrew. It was his affair not mine, and if anyone moved in the matter
it should be he.
There was an ominous stillness about the Sewins' homestead as I
approached, and I own to a feeling of considerable disappointment as the
thought crossed my mind that the family was away, but reassurance
succeeded in the shape of a large white dog, which came rushing
furiously down the path, barking in right threatening fashion--only to
change into little whines of delight and greeting as it recognised me.
This was a factor in the Sewin household which I have hitherto omitted
to introduce. He was one of the Campagna breed of sheep herding dogs,
and was Aida's especial property, she having discovered him as a puppy
during a tour in Italy. He was a remarkably handsome beast, pure white,
and was of the size and strength of a wolf, to which he bore a strong
family likeness. He had honoured me with his friendship from the very
first--a mark of favour which he was by no means wont to bestow upon
everybody, as his mistress was careful to point out.
"Well, Arlo, old chap. Where are they all?" I said, as the dog trotted
before my horse, turning to look back with an occasional friendly whine.
As I drew rein in front of the stoep Falkner came forth, looking very
handsome and athletic in his snowy linen suit, for it was hot.
"Hallo Glanton, glad to see you," he said, quite cordially, but in
rather a subdued tone for him. "Come round and off-saddle. They'll be
out in a minute, they're having prayers, you know. I slipped out when I
heard your horse."
It was Sunday, and the Major, I remembered, made a point of reading the
church service on that day: in the middle of which I had arrived.
"Tell you what, old chap," he went on. "I'm rather glad of the excuse.
Beastly bore that sort of thing, don't you know, but the old people
wouldn't like it if I were to cut."
"Only the old people?" I said.
"No, the whole bilin' of 'em. Life wouldn't be worth living for the
rest of the day if I didn't cut in. So I do--just to please them all.
See? Well, we'll go and smoke a pipe till they come out."
Falkner had pulled out quite a genial stop to play upon for my benefit--
but then, I had agreed to take him with me on the trip. On the subject
of which he now waxed eloquent. Would we certainly be on the road by
Wednesday, and was there anything he could do, and so forth? I was able
to reassure him abundantly on these points, and his exuberant delight
was like that of a schoolboy on the eve of the holidays, causing me to
think to myself rather sadly, that were I in his shoes, with a home like
this, and the society of sweet, refined English ladies for my daily
portion, I would not be in the least eager to exchange it for the
roughness and ups and downs of a trading trip and the kraals of savages.
But then after all, there was a considerable difference in our years,
and my experience was a good deal behind me, whereas his was not.
Soon the family came out, and I was received with all the accustomed
cordiality, and rather more. Why had I not been near them for so long,
especially as I was about to go away for quite a considerable time, and
so forth? I began to feel self-reproachful, as I thought of my motive,
but it was not easy to find an excuse, the usual "rather busy," and when
I tried I could see Aida Sewin's clear eyes reading my face, and there
was the faintest glimmer of a smile about her lips that seemed to say
plainly: "I don't believe a word of it."
"So you're going to take this fellow with you after all, Glanton," said
the Major as we sat down to lunch. "Well, you'll have a handful, by
Jove you will! I hope you'll keep him in order, that's all."
"Oh he'll be all right, Major," I said. "And the experience won't do
him any harm either."
"Don't you go trying any more experiments at the expense of the chiefs'
head-rings up there, Falkner," said Edith, the younger girl.
"Oh shut up," growled Falkner. "That joke's a precious stale one. I
seem to be getting `jam and judicious advice' all round, by Jove!"
"Well, and you want it--at any rate the advice--only you never take it,"
was the retort.
"Nobody ever does, Miss Edith," I said, coming to his rescue. "Advice
is one of those commodities people estimate at its own cost--nothing to
wit; and set the same value upon it."
"Now you're cynical, Mr Glanton," she answered, "and I don't like
cynical people."
"That's a calamity, but believe me, I'm not naturally so. Why I rather
set up for being a philanthropist," I said.
"You certainly are one, as we have every reason to know," interposed her
sister.
I felt grateful but foolish, having no mind to be taken seriously. But
before I could stutter forth any reply, which was bound to have been an
idiotic one, she went on, tactfully:
"For instance that boy you sent us--Ivondwe. Why he's a treasure.
Everything has gone right since he came. He can talk English, for one
thing."
"Can he? That's an accomplishment I should never have given him credit
for, and I don't know that it's altogether a recommendation. You know,
we don't care for English-speaking natives. But you mustn't talk it to
him, Miss Sewin. You must talk to him in the vernacular. How are you
getting on, by the way?"
"Oh, indifferently. You might have given me a little more help, you
know."
The reproach carried its own sting. Of course I might. What an ass I
was to have thrown away such an opportunity.
"Yes, he's a first-rate boy, Glanton," said the Major. "I don't know
what we should do without him now."
"You haven't started in to punch his head yet, eh Falkner?" I said,
banteringly, rather with the object of turning attention from my share
in this acquisition.
"The curious part of it is that Arlo won't take to him," went on Miss
Sewin. "He's on perfectly good terms with the other boys but he seems
to hate this one. Not that Ivondwe isn't kind to him. He tries all he
can to make friends with him but it's no good. Arlo won't even take
food from him. Now why is this?"
"I'm afraid that's beyond me," I answered, "unless it is that the
instinct of a dog, like that of a horse, isn't quite so supernaturally
accurate as we accustom ourselves to think."
This was a subject that was bound to start discussion, and animated at
that--and soon I found myself in somewhat of a corner, the ladies,
especially, waxing warm over the heretical insinuation I had made. Then
the Major, drawing on his experiences as a cavalry officer, took my side
on the subject of equine intelligence, or lack of it, and Falkner took
up the impartial advocate line, and we were all very jolly and merry
through it all, and certainly conversation did not lag.
Lunch over, the Major announced his intention of having forty winks, and
the rest of us adjourned to the stoep, and roomy cane chairs.
"One thing I like about this country," pronounced Falkner, when he had
got a cigar in full blast, and was lounging luxuriously in a hammock--a
form of recumbency I detest--"and that is that provided you're in the
shade you can always sit out of doors. Now in India you can't. It's a
case of shaded rooms, and _chiks_, and a black beast swinging a punkah--
whom you have to get up and kick every half-hour when he forgets to go
on--till about sundown. Here it's glorious."
I was inclined to share his opinion, and said so. At the same time
there came into my mind the full consciousness that the glorification
here lay in the peculiar circumstances of the case--to wit the presence
and companionship of these two sweet and refined girls. The elder was
in creamy white, relieved by a flower or two, which set off her soft
dark beauty to perfection; the other was garbed in some light blue
gossamer sort of arrangement which matched her eyes and went wonderfully
with her golden hair, and ladies, if you want anything more definitely
descriptive I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, for what do I, Godfrey
Glanton, trader in the Zulu, know about such awesome and wondrous
mysteries? I only know--and that I do know--when anything appeals to me
as perfect and not to be improved upon--and the picture which these two
presented certainly did so appeal.
Outside, the blaze of sunlight--rich, full, and golden, without being
oppressive or overpowering--lay slumbrous upon the sheeny roll of
foliage. Here and there the red face of a krantz gleamed like bronze,
and away on a distant spur the dark ring of a native kraal sent upward
its spiral of blue smoke. Bright winged little sugar birds flitted
familiarly in and out among the passion flower creeper which helped to
shade the stoep, quite unaffected by our presence and conversation--
though half scared temporarily as a laugh would escape Falkner or
myself. Striped butterflies hovered among the sunflowers in front, and
the booming hum of large bees mingled with the shriller whizz of
long-waisted hornets sailing in and out of their paper-like nests under
the roof--and at these if they ventured too low, Arlo, whose graceful
white form lay curled up beside his mistress' chair, would now and again
fling up his head with a vicious snap. The scene, the hour, was one of
the most perfect and restful peace: little did we think, we who sat
there, enjoying it to the full, what of horror and dread lay before us
ere we should look upon such another.