“I am a poor man, chief,” answered the priest, mustering his best Sindabele. “Yet—here is something.”
Zwabeka looked at the silver without great enthusiasm, while the bystanders muttered—
“A poor man? Yau! An isanusi a poor man! Mamoi was ever such a thing heard of?”
“It is true amadoda,” said Lamont. “The white isanusi give away all the gifts they receive—and more.”
A ripple of undisguised laughter ran through the group. An isanusi give away all he received, and more! No, that was too much. Lamonti was trying to amuse them.
They bade farewell to the chief, and those present. Outside the enclosure Lamont picked up his gun, which in accordance with native etiquette he had left there, taking care, however, that there were no cartridges in it, in case of accidents. As they mounted their horses at the farther gate, the witch-doctor came running up.
They had forgotten something, he declared. These great ones had forgotten him.
“That is true,” said Lamont, with a laugh, “yet not altogether. I did not want the chief of this kraal to know that I thought the chief of izanusi equal to him by giving him an equal gift. Here it is.”
“Baba, Nkose!” sung out Qubani, turning inquiringly to the other. But Lamont laughed.
“Now nay, Qubani—now nay. Two brethren of the same craft do not take gifts from one another. They take them from those outside.”