“I’d like to have a word or two with the boy who saw him last,” I said. “Alone I mean.”
“Think you can get him to talk, eh? Well perhaps you may—I’ve heard of you, Glanton, and what a chap you are for managing Kafirs. All right, stop on till this evening, the boy’s out herding now. Then you can indaba him to your heart’s content after supper. You’ll stay the night of course.”
But I urged that such was not in my programme, and in fact I had some business to attend to next day irrespective of mere retail trade in the store. So we compromised by my consenting to remain till evening. There was sufficient moon for me to ride home by even if it rose somewhat late. I suggested that we should ride out into the veldt in the afternoon and I could interview the boy there. He would talk more freely that way, and Kendrew agreed.
The boy was a quiet, decent looking youngster, and was herding his flock in most exemplary fashion. I asked him his name.
“Pecamane, ’Nkose!”
“Have I seen you before?”
“More than once, Nkose. At Isipanga, at the store. Then again, when we danced and ate beef.”
“Ah. You were there then? Who is your chief?”
“Tyingoza, Nkose.”
Kendrew had ridden on, leaving me alone with the boy.