“Have you got him?”
“Yes; lashed to the waggon.”
“Thank God for that! Let’s look at him. Ah, you black devil, what have you done with the lady?”
Klaas blinked at the lantern, then sullenly looked away.
Webster drew a sjambok from the side of the waggon, a formidable weapon made from rhinoceros’ hide, and made it whistle through the air.
“Now I’ll make you speak. Where’s the lady?”
Klaas looked at the sjambok, and clicked with his tongue in token of defiance.
“Leave him to me,” interposed Hume quietly. “Of what people are you,” he asked the native; “a Makatese?”
Klaas gave a click.
“A Fingo?”