Yes, it was a tense moment, and in the excitement of it Lamont had all he could do to keep his nerves steady. With a mind characteristically attuned to trifles at such a moment he found his attention partly shared by such. Apart from the crowd a very pretty girl was rating a man, in voluble English with a foreign accent, apparently for having paid too much attention elsewhere during the day. He heard Jim Steele snarling and cursing in the bar tent, and idly wondered if his language would reach ears for which it was not fit. He felt an interest in Orwell’s dog, running about in search of its master—in short, a dozen other trivialities raced through his brain. Then a loud cheer broke the spell. The first prize had been distributed.
“This is not the unarmed gathering you would think, Qubani,” he said, speaking in quick low tones. “Each man—and there are nearly two hundred of them—has his weapons all ready, and would have them in his hand in far less time than it would take you to run—say from here to Ehlatini.”
“Whou!” ejaculated the witch-doctor, bringing his hand to his mouth.
“Moreover, all round Gandela there is laid that which would blow a whole impi into the air did such walk over it. The whites know where it is, but it would be very dangerous for strangers.”
“Ha!”
Another cheer went up, as another prize was given away. Incidentally Lamont thought how fortunate he had been in not winning the tent-pegging competition, for he could not have received his prize by deputy, and it was still important to keep a close watch on Qubani.
“And now, O great isanusi,” he went on, “what would be thy fate did those here know what my múti has told me? No quick and easy death, I fear.”
A troubled and anxious look came into the old man’s face.
“You are my father, Lamonti, but your talk is dark—very dark. Ou! Yet though I understand it not, I will do all you wish.”
“That will be wise. Now we will look at them receiving the rewards. Come.”