Chapter Seventeen.
Majendwa’s Kraal.
A large, well-built Zulu kraal is to my mind a picturesque and symmetrical object with its perfect double circle of ring fences enclosing the yellow domes of the grass huts, and the large open space in the centre, dappled with many coloured cattle, or alive with the dark forms of its inhabitants. Such a kraal was that of the chief, Majendwa. It lay deep down in a large basin-like hollow; an amphitheatre, as it were, sparsely bushed and surrounded by high, terrace-like cliffs. On one side these rose up to a tall cone of considerable height.
The valley bottom and the slopes of the hills were covered with grazing herds, all sleek and round and shining, for the grass was abundant, and rains had been plentiful in these highlands.
“That looks promising,” I remarked to Falkner, as we gazed around upon this land of plenty. “I hope to take back a good few of these with us.”
“By Jove, yes,” he said. “I say, I wonder if there’s anything to shoot among those cliffs over there.”
“Not very much. An odd reebok or klipspringer is about all you’d get. However, we can try later on. Hallo! That looks uncommonly like Majendwa himself.”
Two tall Zulus were stalking along a path which should converge with ours a little way ahead. We had ridden on, leaving the waggons to follow, and the sound of their creaking and jolting was even now borne to our ears behind, as they wound down the rocky track which led into the hollow from that side, together with an occasional driving shout.
“Is it?” said Falkner, looking up with some curiosity. “By Jingo, he’s a fine-looking chap for a nigger, anyway.”