“Ah—ah, Ivuzamanzi,” I went on, chaffing him. “I had thought of fixing our mid-day resting place on the river bank below where Umzinyati flows in. Or, are the horns of Matyana’s calves long enough to reach across? What thinkest thou, son of Tyingoza?”
“Ou!” laughed the youth, bringing his hand to his mouth. “You are my father, Iqalaqala. But that day is yet to be paid for.”
His broken leg was very completely mended, and he showed no trace of a limp, even. I explained the joke to my companion.
“I didn’t know they fought like that among themselves,” she said. “Tell me, Mr Glanton. They are not likely to do anything of that sort to-day, are they? I mean, they might get excited.”
“No—no. Don’t be in the least alarmed about that. By the way, how are you getting on in your studies? Say something to Ivuzamanzi now—even if only two or three words.”
“No, I’m shy to. You’ll only laugh at me, or he will.”
“Not a bit of it. Now—go ahead.”
“Hallo! What nigger’s this?” bellowed Falkner, swaggering up. “He wasn’t here last night, was he?”
“No,” I answered rather shortly, disgusted at the interruption of this blundering ass upon our little understanding. “He’s the chief’s son, and he’s going to boss up the arrangements, so don’t be uncivil to him if you can help it, eh?”
“I’ll try not. But I say, Glanton, come and arrange about these guns you were speaking of, there’s a good fellow. It must be nearly time to start.”