“We shall have plenty left to send the Matabele back a rich man,” said the missionary.
“And as for Luji, I left his full pay and a handsome ‘Bucksheesh’ with my relative on the Umvoti,” answered Hughes.
“We shall be certain of a good reception from the Portuguese at Tête or Senna on the Zambesi, and are sure to find some coasting vessel at Quillimane, bound for Table Bay.”
“And we shall have traversed Eastern Africa from the Limpopo northwards to the Zambesi; but, see, day is breaking; I long for the fresh air of morning after stilling all night here.”
Taking up his rifle, Hughes walked to the entrance, stooped, and went out, stepping over the prostrate bodies of the guard. Day was just breaking, and with it the Amatonga kraal was waking into life. Luji was fast asleep under the tree, and on a branch above him, sat the baboon, looking upwards, and making hideous faces. It was evident there was something concealed in the tree, which wanted to pass the monkey, and which the latter would not allow. Watching them, Hughes soon saw a head, garnished with two great eyes, peeping out of the foliage. Waiting an opportunity, he fired, the village ringing with the report which sounded very loud on the quiet morning air. The guards at the entrance of the hut, startled out of all propriety, jumped to their feet, forgetting their duty, and scuttled off. A howl of terror from Luji rang out, the caracal, dropping from branch to branch, plumped heavily on the half-awakened Hottentot, while the baboon dashed after it, chattering with delight. The animal was a large one, and resembled a very big and beautifully marked cat, striped like a small tiger, the ears being black, pointed, and tipped with tufts of hair.
Taking it by the tail, and laughing at the alarm he had caused, Hughes walked towards the entrance of the hut, where, attracted by the report, the missionary and Masheesh stood.
Just as he reached it, a long, loud, wailing cry rang out from the very centre of the kraal. For a moment all was silent, and then once more it was heard. There was an unusual bustle, the savages, male and female, seeming much excited. Soon many other voices chimed in, and it became evident that something had happened to cause sorrow and lamentation in the tribe. Masheesh had already gone, and breakfast was to the two white men of more importance than anything that could affect their hosts, the Amatongas.
The Dead Chief.
The sun had risen in all its splendour, the smoke from the many fires curling spirally up into the air, for there was hardly the faintest breeze. Every thing betokened the heat of an African day. Under the shadow of their tree sat the two Europeans, their rifles leaning against its trunk. Luji was near, playing with the baboon, which was chattering and making hideous faces; the missionary busily employed taking notes of the journey, and Hughes skinning carefully the caracal he had that morning shot. Things seemed to have quieted down in the kraal, and the excitement to have partially at least died away. Not knowing whether they were to consider themselves prisoners or not, though the guard had not resumed their post, and thinking if they left the camp the act might be wrongly construed by Umhleswa, the white men remained where they were.