I looked at them and they looked at me for quite a long while, since following my usual rule, I determined not to be the first to speak. Moreover, if they meant to kill me there was no use in speaking. At length their leader, an elderly man with thin legs, a large stomach and a rather pleasant countenance, saluted politely, saying—
“Good morning, O Macumazahn.”
“Good morning, O Captain, whose name and business I do not know,” I answered.
“The winds know the mountain on which they blow, but the mountain does not know the winds which it cannot see,” he remarked with poetical courtesy; a Zulu way of saying that more people are acquainted with Tom Fool than Tom Fool is aware of.
“Perhaps, Captain; yet the mountain can feel the winds,” and I might have added, smell them, for the Kloof was close and these Kaffirs had not recently bathed.
“I am named Goza and come on an errand from the king, O Macumazahn.”
“Indeed, Goza, and is your errand to cut my throat?”
“Not at present, Macumazahn, that is, unless you refuse to do what the king wishes.”
“And what does the king wish, Goza?”
“He wishes, Macumazahn, that you, his friend, should visit him.”