At times, when they were taking their walks abroad, a sudden hubbub, and a roaring crowd on the move, would denote that his Majesty was out, and his faithful subjects were hailing his progress. But they deemed it expedient to keep out of the way of such demonstrations.
“Hallo!” cried Haviland, one hot morning, as they were lying in their hut. “Here, quick, give us that box! Why, that’s the most whacking big scorpion I’ve ever seen, even here.”
In a trice the great crawling venomous brute was, like themselves, a prisoner, savagely walking round and round, and wondering what had happened.
“It’ll be a job to get him into the lethal jar, Oakley! If we use the tongs on him we’re sure to damage his legs, like we did that mammoth tarantula that was taking a stroll over you the other night. Here, hold the box a minute.”
So for upwards of a quarter of an hour, these two enthusiastic collectors were busily at work circumventing the ugly venomous insect. They had forgotten their troubles; the Inswani, the king, Mushâd, everything.
“Well done!” cried Haviland. “We’ve got him at last. What a specimen! Poor old Ahern, how he would have enjoyed this! If only he hadn’t been in such a hurry—. Get out of the way, Kumbelwa. You’re in our light,” he added, without looking up, as a shadow darkened the door. With a smothered grunt this was removed. Then, when at last they did look up, the figure squatted on the ground was not that of Kumbelwa at all. It was Dumaliso.
They exchanged greetings, not very cordially on either side. They were not particularly fond of the chief, whom Oakley defined as “a cruel brute, who’d cut our throats as soon as look at us, if he dared.” Moreover, they were vexed that he should appear on the scene when he did, for they had received more than one hint from Kumbelwa that the Inswani looked with considerable suspicion on their collecting propensities. None but abatagati, or evilly disposed sorcerers, went about collecting insects and plants, it was argued—of course to work witchcraft with—and they had deemed it wise to refrain. Their position was quite risky enough without doing anything to add to its complications, and now here was one of the most influential men in the nation—and toward themselves the most hostile—entering just in time to find them capturing one of the ugliest and most vicious specimens of the insect world. What could they want with such save for purposes of witchcraft?
“The King, the Great Great One, has a word unto ye two,” began Dumaliso.
They nodded assent.
“With the firearms we have taken from the slave-hunting dogs many of the King’s warriors might be armed. His ‘word’ is that ye shall teach them to shoot, beginning with myself.”