She laughed with a slight embarrassment. In the surprise of his entry she had forgotten that the woman was there.
“Oh! that’s all right,” she answered jerkily. “Couldn’t turn her out, you know... The hut belongs to her—in a way. She happened along the first evening, and was for running like a scared rabbit at sight of me, but,”—Tottie laughed again. “Even a nigger is companionable,” she said.
Lawless looked hard at her.
“She’s raw,” Tottie explained... “Zulu... only speaks her own tongue. I know a few words, and so we rub along.”
“And her belongings?” Lawless asked. “Has it occurred to you that there’s a nigger husband somewhere? If she makes this place her home she doesn’t live alone here.”
“He hasn’t shown up so far,” Tottie answered comfortably. She touched significantly a holster at her waist. “I’m not scared of niggers, Grit.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’ve done with this. Van Bleit’s gone—Denzil too... And they’ve taken the horses. It’s twenty miles to the town, but we’ve got to do it.”
Tottie looked thoughtful.
“There’s a nearer way than that, baas,” she said. She jerked her head in the direction of the sleeping native. “There’s some sort of a farm within reasonable walking distance... She makes the journey for sour milk. They’d let us have a conveyance if we paid enough, I expect... It’s better than tramping, anyhow. We’ll rouse her, and make her show us the way.”
She stood up, shook out the folds of her skirt, and surveyed herself in the glass she had brought from the house and hung by a nail on the wall. One cheek was hectic with artificial colour, the other, on which she had been lying, was white and red in streaks.