“Precisely,” agreed Dick. “But that part of the story was given in a second book recounting the further voyagings of the wonderful Flying-Fish—that was the name of the airship, you will remember. By Jove! How vividly those yarns recur to one’s memory when anything special—like this adventure of ours—occurs to recall them. Do you know, Phil, it now seems to me that, quite unconsciously to ourselves, those two books have had a distinct influence upon us in undertaking and carrying through this journey?”
“Possibly,” agreed Grosvenor; “though I am obliged to admit that I have been, and am still, quite unconscious of it. The point that is of real importance to us is this. Had the narratives in those two books the slightest foundation of fact? Because, if so, our recollection of them might stand us in good stead should difficulties arise between us and these people. Take, for example, the matter of the four Spirits of the Winds. If we were to judiciously exhibit some knowledge of them and their doings, this king might be inclined to be a great deal more complaisant than he otherwise would be. Don’t you think so?”
“Perhaps,” conceded Dick; “it is impossible to say. But what knowledge do we possess, or can we exhibit? Absolutely none, except what we can remember through the perusal of those two books. And, for my own part, I am inclined to believe that the alleged adventures of the four persons therein referred to were purely fictitious, or at least had no more than the slenderest connection with actual fact.”
“Yet,” contended Grosvenor, “it is remarkable, to say the least of it, that in our very first communication with these Makolo—which, now I come to think of it, was the actual name of the nation given in those books—the four Spirits of the Winds should be mentioned. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, it certainly is,” agreed Dick, somewhat reluctantly. “And of course,” he continued, “if it should happen that those two yarns are a record of actual occurrences presented in the guise of fiction, it will not be by any means the first time that such a thing has occurred. Anyhow,” he concluded, “I do not see that we can possibly do any harm by acting, as you suggest, upon the assumption that the yarns, however extravagant they may have appeared to us when we read them, are records of actual fact, and using our recollection of them in any manner that may seem advantageous to us. Is that agreed?”
“Yes, certainly,” assented Grosvenor. “We can but try it, and see how it works. And now, to change the subject, what say you about outspanning? This seems to be a good spot, eh?”
During the foregoing conversation the two speakers had been walking on ahead of the wagon, with their rifles in the hollow of their arms, the dogs and Leo, the lion cub, trotting amicably at their heels. They had arrived at a spot about a mile from the village, and were now traversing an open “flat” with plenty of grass, close to the margin of a small stream. As Grosvenor had suggested, it was an excellent spot upon which to outspan, for there were grass and water for the cattle, and it was sufficiently far away from the village to prevent any of those annoyances that a nearer approach might have subjected them to; they therefore halted, and when the wagon came up the order to outspan was given. A few minutes later, while Jantje and ’Nkuku were superintending the watering of the oxen, some half-dozen women, carrying baskets poised upon their heads, were seen approaching from the village. When, somewhat later, these women arrived at the wagon, the leader of them announced that the contents of the baskets, consisting of green mealie cobs, sugar cane, eggs, sweet potatoes, half a dozen shockingly skinny chickens, milk, and joala (a kind of native beer) were a present from the headman of the village to the strangers. (Six months earlier the travellers would have laughed incredulously at the idea of liquids being conveyed in baskets; but now they took it quite as a matter of course, for they had by this time grown quite familiar with the native basket, so exquisitely woven out of grass as to be quite impervious to leakage). They accepted the gift with a few words—but not too many—of thanks, and then, desirous of creating a good impression upon the Makolo as early as might be, they directed the women to wait, and, going to the wagon, took from their store of “notions” a few yards of gaudily printed cotton stuff, two or three yards of brass wire, half a dozen empty two-ounce tobacco tins decorated with gilt and coloured lettering, in the style familiar to all devotees of the weed, a small wooden box containing about a pint of mixed beads, and to each of the smiling and expectant basket-bearers a special present for herself, consisting of a necklet of large particoloured beads, the remaining gifts being of course for the headman in return for his present. The necklets Dick and Grosvenor personally clasped round the shapely, bronze-tinted throats of the recipients, to the intense delight of the latter, and then the damsels took their departure, smiling to such an extent as to display every tooth in their heads. Presently, when they were a few yards from the wagon, they burst into song, the burden of their lay being the magnificent generosity, enormous wealth, and splendid personality of the visitors.
About an hour before sunset that same day another party made its appearance, approaching from the village. On this occasion it consisted of men only, some twenty in number, which, upon their arrival at the wagon, proved to be the headman of the village and his retinue, all unarmed.
The party halted at a distance of some ten paces from the spot where Dick and Grosvenor sat before their open tent, and as they did so, with the precision of trained soldiers, every man’s right hand was flung aloft, and in deep, sonorous tones the salute was given:
“Bietu!”