We were a little apart from the others, and talk in a low slurred tone that natives use when they don’t want to be understood.
“Not war,” he answered; “at any rate not yet. But, Iqalaqala, those who come into a chief’s country should not come into it with too many eyes.”
“Ha!” I said, taking in the quick glance which he shot in Falkner’s direction, and with it the situation. “Too many eyes there may be, but a shut mouth more than makes up for that. A shut mouth, impela!”
“A shut mouth? Au! Is the mouth of Umsindo ever shut?”
This, it will be remembered, was Falkner’s native name, meaning noise, or bounce, and the chief’s son was perpetrating a sort of pun in the vernacular.
“But it will be this time, never fear,” I answered. “Farewell now, son of Majendwa. I, who have seen more than men think, know how not to talk.”
I felt really grateful to Muntisi, and made him a final present which he appreciated.
“You need not mistrust those I have brought you,” he said. “Only for others you cannot have too many eyes now until you reach Inncome,” he added meaningly.
Nothing of note happened and we trekked on unmolested in any way, travelling slow, for the trade cattle were fat and in excellent condition, which of course I didn’t want to spoil. Then befel an incident which was destined to give us trouble with a vengeance.
We had got into sparsely inhabited country now, and were nearing the border. One afternoon Falkner and I had struck off from the track a little to shoot a few birds for the pot—by the way Falkner had in some degree condescended to relax his sulks, being presumably tired of his own company. We had rejoined the track and had just put our horses into a canter to overtake the waggons when Falkner threw a glance over his shoulder and said: