“Yes.”
“That was Tambusa.”
Claverton whistled.
“What on earth was he doing up there?”
The other shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, it was,” he said. “Whaow! Lenzimbi. You must be a wizard, indeed,” went on the old man, when he had listened to the recital of Claverton’s miraculous escape over the cliff, and his subsequent capture. “That storm must have been brought up on purpose for you, for nothing in the world else could have saved your life when the chief gave the word for them to burn you. And, even as it is, I could not have saved you—I and Tambusa—if you had not blinded the eyes of that dog Mopela. If he had known I was about he would have smelt the game and rendered it impossible. Now he is half-dead himself.”
It was indeed miraculous, thought Claverton. He had been brought through this with a purpose. The web of Fate was nearly woven.
“Xuvani?” he said. “You have saved my life, and a great deal more this day. Now, be advised by me. Leave this business, you and Tambusa, and go away quietly into the colony until it is all over. You are bound to come to grief if you remain in it. Then, when things are ship-shape again, you shall see what my gratitude is.”
“We have paid our debt,” replied the old Kafir. “Lenzimbi was always open-handed. Some day we will come and ask him for a few cows to give us milk, when all our cattle have been taken. If we come into the colony now, Government will hang us for having fought.”
“Not a bit of it. At most you would get a few months’ imprisonment, and, perhaps, I could obtain a free pardon for you. Then we will talk about this day, and you will be none the worse off for it. You know me—that is enough.”