“I will—I will. But—”
“Do you know this, Lenzimbi?” and Mopela stood confronting him, with a diabolical grin upon his face. As he spoke he removed an old rag from over something he carried, disclosing to view a hideous object. It was a human head, and in the swollen, distorted lineaments, the glazed eyes, and the sandy beard all matted with gore, Claverton recognised the features of the unhappy Boer, Cornelius Oppermann. At this ghastly sight Swaysland started back, his face livid with terror, and trembling in every limb.
“Look at it, Lenzimbi. Look at it. One of your countrymen,” went on the savage, thrusting the frightful object within an inch of the prisoner’s nose. It had begun to decompose, for the weather was hot, and it was all that Claverton could do to restrain his repugnance.
“I see it,” he replied, self-possessedly. “Any one but a fool would know that that article of furniture had belonged to a Dutchman, whom every one but a fool would know was not ‘one of my countrymen.’”
“Hey, Mopela, take it away!” cried the bystanders, disgustedly. “We don’t want to be killed by the carcase of a stinking Boer,” and, with a grin of malice, the barbarian chucked the hideous trophy at a small boy who was passing, and who bolted with a panic-stricken yell.
“Here, Umfundisi, you have talked long enough; you must go back to your hut,” said Nxabahlana. The poor missionary’s heart sank within him. Claverton’s conversation, though sadly profane, had cheered him up, and now he was to be alone again.
“Good-bye, in case we do not meet again,” he said, with more feeling than he had hitherto displayed—on other account than his own, that is.
“Good-bye. Keep your spirits up, and don’t forget to make the most of yourself,” replied Claverton. “And remember Payne—George Payne.”
“Now then, Umfundisi,” impatiently exclaimed one of the Kafirs, dragging him by the shoulder. Swaysland walked dejectedly away, glad of the Kafir’s escort to protect him from the ill-treatment of the women and children; and Claverton, leaning back, wondered, dreamily, what the deuce would be his own fate. So the hours dragged their slow length; and it was with but scant hope that the captives awaited the arrival of the Gaika chief.