Hume cut a piece off a twist of Boer tobacco, and handed it to the man, who took it with a gleam of satisfaction, cut a fragment off with his assegai and put it into his mouth. The Gaika stalked away and crept under the waggon, the stranger stopping his jaws to watch him, until he heard the sigh of a man who lies down to sleep, when he appeared more at ease. Presently he squatted by the fire, spreading his hands before him, and, in a guttural voice, said, “Brandy.”
“His vocabulary may be limited,” said Webster dryly; “but it is useful,” and he went to the waggon-box for the stone demijohn in which they carried the Dop brandy.
Hume had his eye on the man and saw him shift an assegai to his right hand, whereupon he pulled back the hammer of his rifle with a click that drew a swift, furtive glance upon him.
The brandy was poured out and drunk with a resounding smack, and in jubilation he shouted out, after the Kaffir fashion, a few words of praise, and at the noise the oxen stirred.
“Yoh!” came a sharp exclamation.
“Is that you, Klaas?”
“The bush, sieur—the bush; it moves!”
“What the devil— Look after that fellow, Jim, while I see into this,” and Hume bolted round the waggon.
“Well, Klaas?”
The Gaika was not there, but Hume heard him talking to the oxen, and ran forward.