Chapter Eight.
The Spoiling of the Hunt.
There was a tense, and, under the circumstances to anyone who knew, rather an awesome silence.
“This won’t do,” I said. “I must go after him and explain.”
“Don’t go. It doesn’t look safe.”
The protest came from Miss Sewin, for now an angry muttering had arisen among the young men, and the rattle of assegai hafts—this time in ominous earnest—mingled with the hoarse growl of deepening indignation. A very different face was upon things now to that of formerly. The head-ring of their father and chief had been insulted.
“It might not be for everybody, but it is for me,” I answered, quickly, as I hurried after the chief.
It was no easy task to placate Tyingoza. I pointed out to him that what had been done was the silly childish act of a foolish boy who had no sort of idea of what he was doing, and how sorry I was that such a thing should have happened, especially on my place, where he, Tyingoza, had always been so thoroughly welcome, and so forth. And now, would not he return with me and receive a present from me, and an apology from the boy, to show his people that there was no remnant of a cloud between us?
But it was all of no use. He relaxed as far as I was concerned. It was a pity that I had been obliged to have an idiot on my place, he said, but he could see that what had happened was no fault of mine. But he would not come back.
“There are my ‘dogs,’ Iqalaqala,” pointing to the groups of young men, now some distance behind us. “I sent them to hunt with your friends—they will do so. I am going home.”