If the Barushu made to kill his man he would open fire at once and get in a few shots before the end came.
The gunbearer stepped forward. The Barushu watched his approach. A single man and unarmed. They could see that the white man was alone save for a Government servant in clothes; he, at any rate, was of no account. Then there was the half-caste at the fire; well, after all, what could two men do against so many? What was the trap? No, let this fellow come forward, they would wait and see what he was going to do.
Halfway the gunbearer stopped and delivered his message in a loud voice that all could hear. Then he repeated it. No one heard his voice the third time, although he shouted lustily, for the Barushu broke into peals of laughter. "Oh, this white man, how cunning he is; so he has found us out and has spoilt our very good joke. Well, well, better do as we are told, put our assegais against the tree and hear what he is going to say to us. But it would have been very funny."
Each man lifted his right foot, and removing his assegai from between his toes placed it against the dead tree.
At length all the Barushu were seated, marshalled to their places by the imperturbable gunbearer. At a signal from Nanzela, who sat slightly in advance of his followers, a good two thousand men clapped their hands in greeting to the chief official of the District.
So far, so good. Normal relations had been established. The usual formal inquiries concerning the well-being of each were put and answered.
"Come nearer, Nanzela, and sit here," said Wrenshaw. "I wish to speak to you."
Nanzela walked to the spot pointed out to him and sat down.
"The time has come when all men pay the tax to the Government. Have you had warning of it?"
"I have."