“Well, the night before last they slept at Malimati, so they’ll be at Ezulwini now, won’t they?” And the speaker laughed to himself, as he noticed the start and eagerness of tone on the part of his younger companion. The latter relapsed into unwonted silence.
“Ay, he’s a good chap, Ben. You’ll like to be seeing him again, I’m thinking.”
“Yes—yes, of course. A thundering good chap, as you say. I’d rather like to see him again.”
“Him?” drily.
“Of course. Didn’t he get me out of a jolly big mess, when I’d already captured a bang on the head from an infernal nigger’s kerrie, and herd me back to life?”
“Ay; but now I think of it, I believe the boy said it was only him who was going to Ezulwini. Ay, I’m sure I must have made a mistake when I said it was both of them.”
There was a moment of chapfallen silence on the part of Harry Stride. Then he said—
“Robson, you villainous old humbug. Is the whole thing a yarn, or any part of it, or what?”
“Well, Sipuleni told me. He had it from some other nigger. You know how these fellows gossip together, and how news spreads. Ho, Sipuleni!” he called.
“Nkose!”