"There's our destination," said Elvesdon, pointing to the homestead lying on the farther side of the valley beneath, whence already the dogs were announcing their arrival in deep-mouthed clamour. "And there are your relatives," he added, as two figures could be seen coming down from the front stoep, "and they are already taking stock of us through binoculars."

Thornhill's greeting was quiet but cordial.

"Welcome to Sipazi," he said. "We had about given you up, but better late than never. I am afraid you'll find it dull here, but after all, it'll be a new experience I should think."

"Of course it will, Mr Thornhill, and a delightful one. So this is-- Edala." And the two girls kissed each other.

"How did you know my name?" said Edala, with a laugh.

"Why you don't suppose I haven't been 'pumping' Mr Elvesdon all about you during our most delightful drive out here, do you? Of course I have." And then she began entering upon explanations as to the seeming silence in answer to the telegram.

"Oh well, no matter. You're here now, anyhow," answered Thornhill characteristically. And Evelyn Carden, looking up into the strong, bearded, rather melancholy face, was deciding that she was going to like its owner very much indeed; and Elvesdon superintending the process of outspanning, was wondering whether these two girls were going to take to each other; and Edala was thinking that they were.

But--somehow, with the faintest possible twinge of uneasiness, the emphasis on those words 'our most delightful drive' jarred on her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A TRAP--AND A TRAGEDY.

Four men were seated together within a hut. This hut was one of half a dozen which const.i.tuted a small kraal, standing at the foot of a smooth perpendicular cliff.

Two of these four we have already seen and two we have not. The former were Babatyana and Nxala; of the latter, one was Nteseni, an influential chief whose kraals adjoined those of Babatyana, while the fourth was Zisiso, a witch-doctor of great, though secret repute. As was to be expected they were plotting. It was night, and the other inhabitants of the kraal, if such there were, slept.

"So my _muti_ was not strong enough, Nxala?" the witch-doctor was saying. "_Au_! I have never known it like that before."

"He who is gone was old, my father, and his hand shook," was the answer.

"Who, then, may say as to the strength of the _muti_ when scattered upon the floor of a hut? And now Ntwezi has the vessel that contained it."

"That should have broken in pieces," murmured Zisiso.

"Yet it did not, for it reached not the ground."

"Ntwezi is ever suspicious," commented the old man.

"Ever suspicious. But there is one who serves him who would serve him no longer. He will be here to-night."

"That is well. We will hear him."

This witch-doctor, Zisiso, was a mild, pleasant, genial-mannered old man, to all outward appearance, especially when he came in contact with Europeans. Then, there was no limit to the gentle, self-deprecating plausibility with which he alluded to himself. Elvesdon, for one, had been completely taken in by him, and was, in fact, rather partial to him. More than one missionary had taken him in hand; with conspicuous success from the point of view of the missionary. But he never attended their services or meetings. He was too old, he said. Still he was glad to have heard such a good 'word.' He would welcome death now, because he was longing to see all the beautiful things which the _Abafundisi_ had told him were coming after.

The witch-doctor's trade is forbidden by the laws of the Colony, but it is carried on for all that. The good old custom of 'smelling out' has of course disappeared, but what may not be done impressively and in the light of day can be done just as effectively without making any fuss.

Someone obnoxious dies or disappears, there are plenty of ways of accounting for his absence. He has gone away to the mines to earn money, or he has trodden on a nail, and contracted teta.n.u.s, or his cows gave diseased milk--and so forth. For old Zisiso was a past master on the subject of both external and internal poisons.

It may readily be imagined in what respectful dread he was held among the tribes. Even influential chiefs, such as these here a.s.sembled, dared not incur his ill-will, otherwise it is probable that he would have met with a violent and mysterious death long before; besides they never knew when they might not be glad to turn his services to their own account. Even the educated, semi-civilised natives dared not for their lives have done anything to arouse his hostility.

The new Ethiopian movement was to Zisiso utterly laughable, and such exponents of it as the Rev Job Magwegwe too contemptible for words.

But he was too polite to make public his views. A considerable section of the people had thrown themselves into it, and the movement seemed spreading. As an _isa.n.u.si_ all his instincts were to make a study of it lest haply he might turn it to account.

Old Zisiso's professional instincts were not in themselves ign.o.ble, in that they were not dictated by l.u.s.t of gain, or cupidity, beyond a certain ingrained acquisitiveness common to all savages. Thanks to his wide and mysterious powers, to which allusion has been made, he was already rich in possessions beyond his needs, for he was too old to _lobola_ for more wives. No, it was sheer pride in his profession, similar to that which might prompt the civilised man of science to welcome and investigate any new departure in scientific discovery. But of course the aim towards which Magwegwe and his a.s.sociates and employers were supposed to be working, was, in the shrewd eyes of this old sorcerer, the veriest humbug.

Personally he had no particular desire to see the whites 'driven into the sea'; an eventuality he was far too astute to believe for a moment possible. He was old enough to remember how, under former kings in Zululand, those of his craft, no matter how eminent and skilled, held their lives and possessions on precarious tenure. Dingane and Mpande, for instance, expected a great deal--a great deal too much--from their sorcerers. Cetywayo, to be sure, did not bother his head about them, to speak of. But there, under the rule of the _Amangisi_, he and his brother witch-doctors could practise unhindered, always provided they did so with due care and secrecy. What, then, was to be gained by trying to upset the existing state of things?

These considerations should, on every ground of reason and self-interest, have ranged old Zisiso on the side of law and order, yet they did not. The South African native is a strangely complex animal, and there are times when it is impossible to tell what line he may or may not adopt, no matter how powerfully self-interest ought to move him in a given direction, and such was the case with this one. Most probably he was actuated by the sheer love of plotting which had characterised his profession from time immemorial; which in fact, was absolutely essential to the keeping-up of its very existence.

"He who comes this night," went on Nxala, "he who comes this night, will bring back the drinking bowl of him who is gone. He has put another in its place, and when the white doctor sees it, _au_! he will p.r.o.nounce that an _isa.n.u.si_ of the standing of Zisiso does not know what _muti_ is," he added quizzically.

"I trust not this dog of Ntwezi's," said Nteseni, gruffly. This chief had a strong and heavy face, and though large of frame, unlike most of his rank his size was not due to obesity--the result of a great indulgence in _tywala_ and very little exercise. On the contrary he was a savage of weight and muscle, and would have proved an uncommonly tough customer even to a more than average white man if once they got to close grips.

"n.o.body trusts anybody, brother," murmured the old witch-doctor, pleasantly. "Yet we will hear what he has to say."

"We will hear," echoed Babatyana, getting out his snuff-box, and pa.s.sing it round. Nxala prodded the fire with a stick, and the embers flared up. There was silence as the four sat, taking snuff, the firelight glinting on the shine of their headrings. Suddenly the raucous yaps of a superannuated cur were heard outside.

"Here is the man from Ntwezi's, brother," said Babatyana turning to Nxala. "Go out to him or he may be afraid."

He addressed obeyed. Those within the hut could hear the murmur of deep tones. Then Nxala reappeared, followed by the stranger.

The latter was clad in European attire. As he stooped through the low, arched doorway Nteseni gave the fire a vigorous kick. It flared up anew in a sudden bright light. Nteseni had seen something--a something which he had expected to see.

The newcomer saluted the chiefs, nor was his greeting of old Zisiso any less respectful. The latter handed him snuff--then added humorously:

"_Ou_! I am old, I am forgetting. Those who are young, and who dwell among the whites, take their _gwai_ in the form of smoke. Here is some, my son," searching for a bag, "and doubtless thou hast a pipe. Fill it then, and we will talk."

The other murmured a word of acknowledgment, and did as he was told.

Then, from the packet of his jacket--which bulged--he drew forth a bundle. This he proceeded to undo, revealing many fragments of baked clay, in short the fragments of a black drinking bowl.

"Here is what I promised my father," he said, addressing the witch-doctor. "_Whau_! I put another in its place, and now I think the _Dokotela_ will believe that Ntwezi is laughing at him."

"Yet it were better to have brought it whole," said Nteseni.

"That could I not do," answered the visitor, who was no other than Elvesdon's native detective, Teliso. "The shape would have betrayed it."

"M-m!" hummed the listeners.

Now Nteseni took the fragments and with extraordinary ingenuity and patience began piecing them together. As to the latter--well they had the whole night before them!

"There is not a piece missing," he p.r.o.nounced, "no, not even a small piece. To have left such would have been dangerous."

"Would it not, my father? But I desire the ruin of Ntwezi. He has reduced my pay, and I would be revenged. Further, he has promised to thrash me. I will not go back to him."

"No, thou wilt not," returned Nteseni, heavily. "I think thy place is better here among thine own people."

"_Eh he_! That is true, my father. Among my own people."

Nteseni nodded and went out of the hut. There was nothing extraordinary in this, and the new arrival sat there, letting his tongue go freely, uttering, for the most part, sheer inventions--plausible inventions.

The while, he would never fail to pause so as to draw forth the comments of his hearers. These, on their side, met him upon his own ground; whether he was taken in or not they could not tell, but by that time it was to them a matter of sheer indifference either way. Nteseni, who had long since re-entered, was, for him, the most communicative.