“I’m rather uneasy about those Swazis of ours,” said Dawes, as they rode along. “They’re brewing some dog’s trick, I know. My impression is that they mean to desert. I can see by their sulky and hang-dog manner what it all amounts to, and this morning while they were sitting round their fire I happened to pass near enough to catch a word or two of their conversation. I heard ‘Igazipuza’ mentioned more than once. It’s quite wonderful how this form of funk has sprung up along this border, and in fact it was a long way inside Swaziland that we heard it.”
“Yes. The wonder is that we got a single Swazi to go with us. But is there really such a chap as Ingonyama? You know the Zulu country pretty well.”
“I never heard of him till lately,” answered Dawes. “Still he may be some petty chief, who has suddenly sprung into fame, and has gathered around him all the ruffians of the Zulu nation. Well, a few days more will show. But I don’t like our Swazis turning rusty. If they make off we can’t replace them, for this strip of country seems absolutely uninhabited. Hallo!—quick—jump down, Ridgeley!”
This in harried staccato. For in rounding a spur, there, in front of them, right out in the open stood a fine bush-buck ram. Roused by the tramp of the horses’ feet he stood, his head thrown back, gazing curiously upon the intruders. The last idea apparently that occurred to him was that of flight.
“Two hundred yards sight, not too fine,” whispered Dawes, as Gerard dropped into a sitting posture.
But before the latter had time to press trigger the back was seen to leap high in the air, and fall over kicking; then, after another plunge and a kind of gasping bellow, it lay still.
“By Jove! What does that mean?” cried Gerard.
“It has been assegaied,” said Dawes. The buck was lying some thirty yards from the edge of the bush. Out of the latter there now emerged a tall savage, who without deigning to take any notice of the presence of strangers, walked straight up to his quarry and proceeded to cut its throat with the blade of a huge assegai.
This man, as the pair rode up to him, growled out a sullen “Saku bona,” and proceeded with his work of cleaning the buck, just as if they were not there. Seen face to face he was unmistakably a Zulu, and though of fine frame and splendid proportions, both agreed that he owned about the most villainous countenance they had looked upon for many a long day. His shaven pate was crowned with the usual black shiny ring, and he wore round his loins the usual mútya of cats’ tails. But they noticed that he was armed with several broad-bladed, close-quarter assegais, as well as two or three lighter casting ones, also a huge knobkerrie, and a full-sized war-shield of red and white ox hide.
“It was a fine shot—or rather couple of shots,” said Dawes, as they stood watching the process. “Look, Ridgeley. The first assegai half ham-strung the buck just under the shoulders, the second must have gone through the heart, or very near it. Yes, it’s powerful throwing.”