Part 10 (1/2)

”Not Mehlo-ka-zulu?”

”He is my relative.”

Elvesdon burst out laughing.

”Confound the fellow, he reminds one of the Irish witness in 'Handy Andy',” he said. Then to the Zulu: ”Where is your kraal?”

”_La-pa_. Over there.” And the speaker pointed with his stick in a direction which conveyed the idea that he resided anywhere between the further side of the valley and the North Pole.

Elvesdon did not press the point, knowing perfectly well that he could find out all he wanted from other sources. Then, too, the deft way in which the Zulu fenced all his questions appealed strongly to his sense of the ridiculous. There was, moreover, nothing to be gained in particular by continuing his catechism; and One of the secrets of his success in the handling of natives was that he knew when to humour them and when to draw a tight rein.

”Do you know who I am?” he said.

”_Inkose_ is the magistrate--the new magistrate--at Kwabulazi.”

”That is so. But new only as regards Kwabulazi,” returned Elvesdon meaningly. ”So knowing who I am it is not surprising if I ask: 'What has a Zulu from beyond the border to do in Babatyana's location on this side?'”

”_Inkose_--I have always heard that under the King's rule all men are free, whether white or black, as long as they do no harm. And I am doing no harm.”

”As long as they do no harm,” repeated Elvesdon, with a touch of significance. ”That is well, Manamandhla--that is well.” And he turned away.

”Where are these crevices, Miss Thornhill? It's curious how they occur in some of these mountain ranges. I got into one myself once, but fortunately it wasn't particularly deep, or I should be there still.”

”Where was that?”

”In the Cape Colony. I was there on leave, and put in a time with an old official pal of mine. We went reebok-shooting in the mountains, and I got into such a hole as one of these, stepped backwards into it.

Fortunately my pal was near enough to hear me sing out, or I might not have been able to pull myself up.”

”This is a deep one,” said Edala. ”Come and look. If you drop a stone over, you hear it clanging against the sides ever so far down. Listen, now.”

She dropped a stone over, and both stood listening.

”By Jove, but it is deep,” said Elvesdon. ”And beastly dangerous too, almost hidden in the gra.s.s.”

Thornhill had not joined them. He was seated on the flat rock, puffing away at his pipe. The ghastliness of the situation was known to him and to one other there present--and here was this unthinking girl dropping stones into this particular cleft, of all others on that mountain top-- of all others in the world.

”That is one of the 'mouths' that gives not back its prey,” said the deep voice of Manamandhla. ”_Whau_! It retains that which it swallows.” Then with a word of farewell greeting he withdrew, but in the opposite direction to that by which they had ascended.

”Hadn't we better go down?” said Thornhill. ”It'll be dark directly.”

”And it's s.h.i.+very now,” said Edala, looking round with a shudder. ”Come along.”

By the time they were off the moss-grown natural stairway it was nearly dark. The horses, hitched to a bush by the bridles, shook themselves and whinnied at their approach.

”What would be the effect of your 'aerial throne' by starlight, Miss Thornhill?” said Elvesdon, as they pa.s.sed beneath the mighty cliff, whose loom cut straight and black against the myriad stars which came gus.h.i.+ng out into the velvety vault.

”I've never tried it. I believe I'd be afraid. You know--the Kafirs say the Sipazi mountain is haunted, that all sorts of _tagati_ sounds float off from the top of it at night.”

”You afraid? Why I don't believe there's anything in the world that could scare _you_, after what I've seen.”

”Oh isn't there? I'm rather afraid of lightning, for one thing.”