"Where is the dance to be held, Mr Elvesdon?" said Evelyn. "Here?"

"Why not? It's as good a place as any. I'll ask Tongwana."

He called to the old chief, who was seated on the ground among a small group a little way off. Tongwana came forward, and saluted Thornhill, and there was a lot of talk and banter.

"I have not seen thee since the day of the 'king of serpents' my father," the latter was saying.

"_Whau_! that was a great day, and a great snake," chuckled the old man.

"So that's the big chief?" commented Evelyn. "He doesn't look particularly dignified."

"He's very old," explained Elvesdon. "But whatever he looks he's all right. He and Zavula are the best men in authority we've got." Then turning again to the old chief, "What has become of Zavula, my father?

Three times have I sent for him, and it is said that he is lying sick."

"I had not heard that, _Nkose_. But I am growing old. The young men toss the news about from one to the other; but we old ones--_au_! It is good night."

"It's rather a rum thing, Thornhill, but I'm not quite easy in my mind about old Zavula. He came to the office to tell me a very queer story the last time I saw him, and every time I ask after him they say he is sick."

"H'm!" said Thornhill, drily.

"He's such a straight old chap too. Now I think we can shut up shop-- you ladies would like tea, I know, before the fun begins."

It was the middle of the afternoon, blue and cloudless. The camp was pitched upon a slight eminence, the ground falling away, gra.s.sy and open, on either side. Crowning another eminence less than a mile away stood Tongwana's kraal--its numerous huts forming a circle after the Zulu fashion, though not surrounded by a ring fence, and near it, along a bushy ridge, stood several lesser kraals. In the clear stillness of the air the voices of their denizens and the occasional barking of dogs is distinctly borne hither.

"You'll see something now, Evelyn," said Edala. "A Kafir dance is no end exciting. I always long to join in."

"How many will take part in it?"

"Oh I daresay Tongwana can turn us out a couple of hundred at a pinch,"

said Elvesdon. "Perhaps more."

Already dark forms converging in groups upon the chief's kraal seemed, by their numbers, to give colour to the last statement.

"More, I hope," p.r.o.nounced Edala.

The police escort, who, with Prior, were to convey back the proceeds of the collecting, had saddled up and were all ready to march, when one trooper stepped forward, and saluting Elvesdon begged to be allowed to remain and witness the dancing. He was a fresh-faced intelligent looking young fellow, probably not long out from home. The magistrate could see at a glance that he was a 'gentleman ranker.' He seemed so eager and earnest about it that Elvesdon said:

"Very well, Parry. You can stay. Any objection, sergeant?"

"No, sir."

The boy's face flushed with delight. He had read plentifully about this sort of thing--in fact such reading had had largely to do with bringing him out to the country at all. Now he was going to see it--to see the real thing.

Soon arose from Tongwana's kraal a weird, long-drawn cry. By this time the chief and every native in the immediate neighbourhood of the camp-- except Elvesdon's servants--had disappeared. The cry was echoed, then taken up by many voices till it tailed off into a kind of strophe-like chant. Then from the distant kraal a broad dark stream was issuing, its blackness relieved as it drew nearer, by many a patch of white.

Suddenly the chant changed to a lower key, and its sombre thunder-notes harmonised to the measured tread of the marching warriors.

These, for their parts, offered a perfect spectacle of wild picturesqueness. Each and all had discarded any article of European clothing, and were arrayed in the fantastic, if spare adornments of native apparel; the _mutya_ of cat-tails and cow-hide, beads and bangles, jackal teeth necklaces, flowing tufts of cow-hair, and other gimcrackery of the kind. Then too, the points of bright a.s.segais gleamed wickedly in the sunshine, and the variegated faces of broad shields, lent colour to the wild array.

The column advanced, marching four deep. The rapping of a.s.segai hafts against shield sticks, beat a weird accompaniment to the war-song, which, now risen to a deafening roar, ceased, with a suddenness that was almost startling, as the whole array spreading out into crescent formation, halted, and flinging the right hand aloft, shouted, as one man:

"Amakosi!" ["Chiefs!"]

"They ought to have given the _Bayete_, to a representative of Government--confound their cheek!" murmured Elvesdon, who was filling his pipe. "That's the salute royal, you know, Miss Carden."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," was the answer. "They look grand--grand, but a little alarming. Still I'm so glad we came."

"Don't know about a couple of hundred," remarked Thornhill. "More like six or seven."

Now again the song and dance was renewed. So catching was the latter that the European spectators found themselves beating time with their feet. The stamping of the excited warriors shook the earth, sending up long streams of yellow dust into the sunlit air. Young warriors would dart from the ranks, and leaping nearly their own height from the ground volley forth a torrent of words as they went through an imaginary pantomime of their prowess, their eyeb.a.l.l.s white and rolling, seeming to burst from their faces, the flash of their bright blades like zig-zagged lightning. Then, with an appalling roar, the crescent extended itself on either side, and charged full speed up to the spectators hemming them now in a complete circle. Evelyn Carden gave a little cry of alarm and she felt herself growing pale.

"It's all right. It's part of the show," said Elvesdon rea.s.suringly, puffing at his pipe.

"Is it? Well, it's rather startling," she answered, rea.s.sured however, by the fact that the rest of the party, including Edala, remained unmoved.

There certainly was something horribly real about it. Six or seven hundred frantic savages, worked up to the wildest stage of excitement, hemming you in in a dense impenetrable circle of dark musky bodies and waving blades, roaring like wild beasts and vociferating that the said blades should shine white no longer, but red--red, may easily become a situation somewhat trying to the nerves, especially to those of the other s.e.x. Then, suddenly, as if by magic, the uproar ceased. The warriors saluted again, then crooning a low toned, rather plaintive sounding chant, dropped back to their original position. Here they were harangued by an orator, his periods being greeted by an expressive hum.

When he ceased, the whole body gathered up its weapons, and moved swiftly away over the veldt--this time in silence.

"Curtain on Act One," said Elvesdon. "We'll stroll up now to yonder ridge. We are going to see a sham fight, or rather a surprise. They are about to attack and capture somebody's kraal--I couldn't catch his name--over the other side, and make it as much like the real thing as possible. I and old Tongwana arranged it all this morning. The last harangue was with the object of bucking up the fighting men. So let's get on."

"It's a splendid sight, sir," said the young police trooper diffidently, as they walked. "I'm no end grateful to you for letting me see it."

Elvesdon turned to him good naturedly.

"Yes, it's an interesting show, isn't it, Parry? By the way, you might add to your pay by knocking up a description of it for one of the home magazines--or even two. The native question is likely to come very prominently before the British public soon."

The young fellow flushed.

"I had thought of doing something of the kind," he said.

"All right. And if you want any information in addition I'll give it you--of course if it's a kind I can give," added Elvesdon, with a meaning laugh.

On reaching the ridge they looked down upon another kraal in front of them. Its inhabitants were loafing about over their usual avocations or lack of such, in apparent ignorance of the black destruction that was about to overwhelm them. But of the a.s.sailants there was as yet no sign.

Elvesdon who had been chatting a little further with the young Police trooper was somewhat behind the party. Then he became aware of the presence of a native--an old man--who, squatted under a bush, was apparently hailing him. He stopped. The old man with shaking fingers, was fumbling in his bag, to produce therefrom--a letter.

Such a letter, dirty, greasy, enclosed in a common looking envelope, addressed moreover, to himself, in a sprawling, uneducated hand.

"Who gave you this?" he asked.

"That I know not, _Nkose_. One of the people."

Elvesdon was about to open it--but just then there were signs of renewed activity below. The attacking impi was getting into position. He thrust the envelope into his pocket. It would keep. It was only some ill-spelt scrawl written by some half--educated native making excuses for not coming to pay his taxes. He was often the recipient of such.

Of course it would keep. Then he rejoined the party.

"Come along, Mr Elvesdon," cried Edala, excitedly. "They are going to begin."

"They won't really kill each other, will they, Mr Elvesdon?" asked Evelyn, with some real anxiety.

"They seem to get so carried away, you know. What if they should come to blows in real earnest? No, but that could not be, could it?"