Then Kumbelwa sat down, and began to take snuff.
“We had a right good fight up there, Nkose, was it not so? But I knew what would be the end of it, for did not you yourself say, ‘What can one buffalo bull do against a hundred dogs?’ So I cut my way through Mushâd’s people and made for the open, and well I knew that none there could outrun me, nor indeed could their bullets even strike me, so wild were these men with excitement and victory. The while I thought that one man outside and free was better than all within and bound, wherefore I put much space between me and the battle so that I might think out some plan. And then, Nkose, I know not how, whether it was my snake that whispered it to me, or what it was, but I looked up—and lo! afar off there rose a smoke. ‘Now,’ thought I, ‘whoever is making that smoke, it is no friend to Mushâd. Further, it is no weak ones of the tribes left in the path of Mushâd, else had they not dared signify their presence so soon after he had passed.’ And I thought ‘Nothing can be worse for those in the hand of Mushâd, and it may be better. As things are, they are already dead; but as things may be, who knoweth?’ So straight to that smoke I went, and lo! by a fire lay four times ten men—warriors, in full array of battle. I walked into their midst before they seized their spears and came for me. Then I said, ‘Who are ye?’ And they told me—I standing there and uttering the name of our King. They had heard it, far, far as they dwelt from the land of Zulu; but, where has not the name of Zulu sounded?
“Then I said ‘Ye seek Mushâd? Good. I can deliver him into your hands—lead me to the impi.’ Then one man said—not speaking very well in the tongue of the Zulu, ‘How knowest thou whom we seek, O stranger; and how knowest thou that there be an impi with us?’ And I said, ‘Look at me. I am not a boy. I am a kehla, and have I not fought the battles of the Great Great One—he of the House of Senzangakona?’ And they said, ‘It is well, O stranger. Show us Mushâd.’ And now, Amakosi, I would ask you—‘Have I not done so?’”
The cordial assent of Haviland was drowned in the chorus of emphatic applause thundered forth from those who heard, for the few who had gathered round to listen had swelled into a mighty crowd, as, seated there, the Zulu warrior poured forth his tale.
“And what of ourselves, Kumbelwa?” asked Haviland. “How are we to return, for we have no bearers left, and all that is valuable to us, though valuable to no one else, lies up yonder, where we fought?”
The Zulu’s countenance seemed ever so slightly to fall.
“For that, Nkose, you must go with these. The Father of this people desires to see you.”
“That is so, O strangers,” broke in a deep voice. Both turned. The words had proceeded from a very tall man, taller even than Kumbelwa, who stood forth a little from the rest. He was a magnificent savage as he stood there, clad in his war costume, his head thrown haughtily back, his hand resting on his great shield. But the glance wherewith he favoured them was one of supercilious command, almost of hostility. Both Haviland and Oakley felt an instinctive dislike and distrust for the man as they returned his glance.
“Who is the warrior I see before me?” asked Haviland, courteously, realising that this man was chief in command of the impi.
“I am Dumaliso,” was the reply. “You must go with us.”