“Down yonder, Nkose,” pointing to the lower country. In a moment both were outside and in front of the dwelling.
Far below, on the plain, which looked humpy from this altitude, two mounted figures were approaching. There was no need to get out a field-glass; the native eyesight, as well as their own, was keen enough. But the two arrivals could not arrive for the best part of an hour. Ben Halse went calmly back to the yard, and further directed the preparation of the great head, with its record horns. Then, rubbing a lot of salt and pepper into it, he covered it with a waggon sail. Verna, watching this proceeding, was struck with a sudden thought.
“Father, what about the koodoo sirloin I’ve got on the roast?” she said.
“Keep it there till it’s done. They won’t know it from beef. Howling joke, eh?”
“Rather,” she laughed. “They’ll all unconsciously aid and abet us in breaking the laws of Cetywayo’s country.”
The police horses were toiling up the slope, then standing with heaving flanks in front of the store. Their riders were not sorry to dismount.
“Well, Mr Halse, how goes it?” cried Meyrick, shaking hands. “Miss Halse—why, you are looking better than ever since those two dances we had together at Ezulwini.”
“Oh, thanks,” laughed Verna. “But that’s a poor compliment. You ought not to have allowed the possibility that I could look better than ever.”
“Sharp as ever, anyhow,” retorted Meyrick. And his comrade broke into a guffaw.
“This is Francis,” he introduced, “commonly known in the force as Frank. It’s shorter, you see, and means the same thing. Now we all know each other.”