“Pandulu? Babatyana? Men from Natal?” repeated the chief. “Now, Nkose, this is like talking through a bullock’s skin. No Amakafula have been at my kraal.”
“I said not at thy kraal, but near it,” was the short reply. “Now a chief is responsible to Government for all that happens within the tribe which he rules—under the Government. Under the Government,” repeated Downes emphatically.
“Yet even a chief is not as the white man’s God. He does not know everything,” was the sneering reply. “I would ask—why does the Government allow its own people in Natal to come over into Zululand at all? We need no Amakafula in this country. Why does it allow them to come here? Is it that it cannot prevent them?”
And something of their chief’s sneer was echoed among the group, in the shape of a smothered laugh.
“Prevent them?” retorted Downes. “A man of your intelligence, Sapazani, must know that the Government has the power to sweep this land from end to end if necessary until there is not a man left alive in it.”
“The Government? Which Government?” answered the chief, with his head on one side. “The Government of Natal or the Government of the Great King beyond the sea?”
“Both Governments. Both work together. The question is childish.”
“Both work together,” repeated Sapazani, still with his head on one side. “Au! That is strange. Because when the men down in Natal were ordered to be shot for killing two of the Nongqai the King’s Government prevented it.”
“That was only until they had inquired further into it,” answered the magistrate. “But they were shot—were they not?”
“We have heard so.”