In compliance with this mandate the said “dog” presently did appear, in the shape of a well-looking, middle-aged Zulu, wearing a long coat with brass buttons, also the head-ring. He saluted the chief respectfully enough, but Sapazani gazed at him sourly.
“So thou art here again, Manyana-ka-Mahlu, and still as the white man’s dog? Hau!”
The point of which remark was that the man addressed was court messenger at the magistracy in whose jurisdiction Sapazani was resident.
“Nkose! A man must live,” was the answer, with a deprecatory smile. “And we are not all born chiefs.”
Sapazani’s eyes blazed into fury, and gripping his stick he half rose. But a whisper from Undhlawafa restrained him—that, combined with another thought.
“Dog of the Abelungu,” he answered, now cool and sneering. “It is well for thee that although some of us were born chiefs we are chiefs no longer. Hau! Yet state thy message.”
The man was apologetic. Who was he to offend one of the great House of Umtetwa? he protested. He meant no such thing. He was only showing how he himself was forced to receive the white man’s money. Had there been any other way of living he need not have done so, but he was poor, and the white man ruled the land.
Then he proceeded to deliver his message. The attendance of Sapazani was required three days thence, to give evidence in a rather intricate case of disputed ownership of cattle then pending between certain of his own followers. The chief’s temper did not improve.
“Ho, Manyana. I wronged thee just now,” he said, “I called thee the white man’s dog, but we are all the white man’s dogs—I among them the most. Well, so far thy message. I will be there, as how should it be otherwise since we lie beneath the heel of these little great great ones who rule the land?” he concluded, bitterly sneering.
“Nkose!”