“Spare him, my lords,” said the old man in supplication; “he is the king’s son, and I am his uncle. If anything befalls him his blood will be required at my hands.”
“Yes, that is certainly so,” put in the young man with great emphasis.
“Ye may perhaps doubt our power to avenge,” I went on, heedless of this by-play. “Stay, I will show you. Here, thou dog and slave (addressing Umbopa in a savage tone), give me the magic tube that speaks”; and I tipped a wink towards my express rifle.
Umbopa rose to the occasion, and with something as nearly resembling a grin as I have ever seen on his dignified face he handed me the gun.
“It is here, O Lord of Lords,” he said with a deep obeisance.
Now just before I had asked for the rifle I had perceived a little klipspringer antelope standing on a mass of rock about seventy yards away, and determined to risk the shot.
“Ye see that buck,” I said, pointing the animal out to the party before me. “Tell me, is it possible for man born of woman to kill it from here with a noise?”
“It is not possible, my lord,” answered the old man.
“Yet shall I kill it,” I said quietly.
The old man smiled. “That my lord cannot do,” he answered.