Chapter Four.
The Mystery of Slaang Kloof.
“But that is Slaang Kloof, Baas.”
“I never said it wasn’t. But—what if it is Slaang Kloof?”
“We cannot go in, Baas.” And the speaker’s pleasing, good-humoured face took on a dogged, not to say obstinate expression. A little more acquaintance with the country and its natives, and Dick Selmes would have known that when the countenance of one of these took on that expression, why, he might as well whisper words of sweet reasonableness into the long ears of an experienced and jibbing mule.
“Why can’t we go in, Kleinbooi?” he said shortly.
“Ou! It is a place of tagati—of witchcraft,” answered the Fingo.
“Witchcraft? Bosh!” exploded Dick. “Come now, Kleinbooi. Lay those dogs on to the spoor sharp, or my chances of getting that buck will become nothing at all, and I can’t afford to lose such a fine ram as that because of your humbugging superstitions.”