“Baas,” said the voice again, “are you dead or are you alive? Because, if you are dead, I don’t want to have anything to do with spooks until I am obliged.”
Now I answered, “Who is it that speaks, and whence?” though, really, as I could see no one, I thought that I must be demented.
The next moment my horse snorted and shied violently, and no wonder, for out of a great ant-bear hole not five paces away appeared a yellow face crowned with black wool, in which was set a broken feather. I looked at the face and the face looked at me.
“Hans,” I said, “is it you? I thought that you were killed with the others.”
“And I thought that you were killed with the others, baas. Are you sure that you are alive?”
“What are you doing there, you old fool?” I asked.
“Hiding from the Zulus, baas. I heard them on the other bank, and then saw a man on a horse crossing the river, and went to ground like a jackal. I have had enough of Zulus.”
“Come out,” I said, “and tell me your story.”
He emerged, a thin and bedraggled creature, with nothing left on him but the upper part of a pair of old trousers, but still Hans, undoubtedly Hans. He ran to me, and seizing my foot, kissed it again and again, weeping tears of joy and stuttering:
“Oh, baas, to think that I should find you who were dead, alive, and find myself alive, too. Oh! baas, never again will I doubt about the Big Man in the sky of whom your reverend father is so fond. For after I had tried all our own spirits, and even those of my ancestors, and met with nothing but trouble, I said the prayer that the reverend taught us, asking for my daily bread because I am so very hungry. Then I looked out of the hole and there you were. Have you anything to eat about you, baas?”