“Yet I have fought with several before this day, O Unknown,” I retorted, with a swift movement, throwing up my shield in defence, at the same time backing towards the rock, so that they could not get round me. So I stood ready for a merry fight, for the leader alone would have taken up all my attention, so tall and strong was he—and there were others.
To my surprise they did not come on. The leader again spoke.
“Once more, who art thou? He who wanders in the retreat of the Bapongqolo must needs give an account of himself.”
“E-hé!” assented the others.
Then I lowered shield and weapons at once.
“I am Untúswa, the son of Ntelani. Perchance ye have heard of him, ye who are refugees.”
By the look which they exchanged I knew they had heard of me. Then the leader said:
“What seek you here, Untúswa, for in truth that is a name which is known?”
“I seek a refuge among the people who are in refuge,” I said.
“Why then, thou art welcome, Untúswa,” he replied. “I am Sifadu, the son of Kona, and I wielded a sharp spear in the ranks of the Imbele-bele, of which I was a captain. But Tola, that jackal-spawned cheat, did name my father at a witch-finding, and he, being old, died the death of the black ants; but I and the remainder of his house escaped—and here we are.”