To Dawes’s suggestion that he should sell them the buck which he had so deftly slain, or at least a part of it, the Zulu returned a surly refusal. All the while he was cleaning the carcase he was devouring what he considered tid-bits raw—the heart, the liver, and part of the entrails. Then making a cup of his two hands, he scooped up a quantity of blood which had collected in the hollow of the carcase, and deliberately drank it. Gerard could hardly conceal his disgust, but there was something in the action that struck Dawes.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Of the people of Zulu?”
“Of the people of Zulu? Au!” returned the savage in a sneering tone, as he flung the carcase of the buck across his shoulder. Then standing drawn to the full height of his almost gigantic frame, his villainous countenance—rendered more repulsive still with the smears of blood from the bits of raw meat he had been eating—wreathed into a most evil grin, he shouted—
“Where have you dwelt, abelúngu (white men), that you have never heard of Vunawayo? Of the people of Zulu? Ou! Igazipuza. The people who drink blood.”
The last words were uttered almost in a roar—a roar of defiance and hatred and wild beast ferocity. The huge barbarian turned and disappeared among the bush.
“We had better get on and find our outspan,” said Dawes, after the momentary silence which had fallen upon the pair. The apparition, coming as it did, had been rather startling. Zulus are by nature well-mannered people, and the brutal rudeness of the man they had just met could betoken nothing less than the most undisguised hostility, but, worse than all, his last words were an abundant confirmation of the ugly rumours which had been taking shape of late with regard to this mysterious and redoubtable clan.
“Well, if this fellow is a specimen of them all, the Igazipuza must be a lot of picked men, both in the matter of physique and character,” said Gerard. “I never saw a finer built chap, nor a more utterly irredeemable-looking villain. And he choused me out of my shot.”
“We may as well keep the affair dark as regards the other boys, but we’ll take Sintoba into counsel,” said Dawes. “The Swazis would hook it at a moment’s notice if they got wind of it. This is a good spot to outspan, and—here come the waggons.”
The rumble of wheels, and the sound of voices and whip-cracking drew near, and already the cattle and sheep came into view, scattering over the meadow-like valley bottom, and soon the waggons. Then, having reached the spot, a broad level, which Dawes had selected, the waggons were outspanned, and the oxen turned out to graze, and all hands who could be spared from the duties of herding were despatched to the adjacent hillside to cut thorn bushes. With these a fairly substantial kraal or enclosure was built, the two waggons forming one side of it, and into this the cattle and sheep were driven for the night. There was a lion or two still frequenting that broken and desolate hill-country, and any number of hyaenas or wolves, as they are called in South Africa—and against such the thorn fence, frail as it was, constituted a fairly efficient protection; for wild animals are desperately suspicious of anything in the nature of a fence, and will hesitate to leap within it, fearing a trap.
Hardly were these precautions completed than the night fell, and then the cheery glow of the camp-fires shone forth redly upon the darkness, and the savoury contents of cooking-pots gave out a welcome aroma. But somehow a damp seemed to have fallen upon the spirits of all. The ordinarily light-hearted natives conversed sparingly and in subdued whispers, and even Dawes and Gerard could not altogether feel unaffected by the general depression. It was as though some hidden danger were hanging over them, the more terrible because mysterious. The night wore on, and soon all sounds were hushed but the rhythmic champ champ of the ruminating cattle, and the occasional trumpet-like sneeze of a goat, and, beneath the dark loom of the hills against the star-gemmed vault, the tiger-wolves howled as they scented the flock which they dare not approach. But it was upon the first faint streak of dawn that all the alertness of those two watchers was concentrated, for that is the hour invariably chosen by the savage foe for the sudden, swift, demoralising rush, which shall overwhelm his doomed victims before they have time so much as to seize their weapons in order to sell dearly their miserable lives.