Umslopogaas surveyed the place with a soldier’s eye and said to me,
“This must be a peaceful country, Macumazahn, where no attack is feared, since of defences I see none.”
“Yes,” I answered, “why not, with a wilderness behind it and bush-veld and a great river in front?”
“Men can cross rivers and travel through bush-veld,” he answered, and was silent.
Up to this time we had seen no one, although it might have been presumed that a waggon trekking towards the house was a sufficiently unusual sight to have attracted attention.
“Where can they be?” I asked.
“Asleep, Baas, I think,” said Hans, and as a matter of fact he was right. The whole population of the place was indulging in a noonday siesta.
At last we came so near to the house that I halted the waggon and descended from the driving-box in order to investigate. At this moment someone did appear, the sight of whom astonished me not a little, namely, a very striking-looking young woman. She was tall, handsome, with large dark eyes, good features, a rather pale complexion, and I think the saddest face that I ever saw. Evidently she had heard the noise of the waggon and had come out to see what caused it, for she had nothing on her head, which was covered with thick hair of a raven blackness. Catching sight of the great Umslopogaas with his gleaming axe and of his savage-looking bodyguard, she uttered an exclamation and not unnaturally turned to fly.
“It’s all right,” I sang out, emerging from behind the oxen, and in English, though before the words had left my lips I reflected that there was not the slightest reason to suppose that she would understand them. Probably she was Dutch, or Portuguese, although by some instinct I had addressed her in English.
To my surprise she answered me in the same tongue, spoken, it is true, with a peculiar accent which I could not place, as it was neither Scotch nor Irish.