May put no trust in Zoonah, and such was Fitje’s dread of him, that she would not lie down to rest, unless her husband laid his gun beside him.
The sportsmen decided on crossing the river as soon as it was fordable; and Zoonah, rejoicing in contributions of tobacco, cigars, and provisions, was happy, after Kafir fashion, lying on the soft turf, and contemplating, with a longing eye, the cattle he professed to guard, but hoped to steal from the men who had saved his life, and now fed him, and treated him with kindness.
Although May heartily despised Zoonah, he was always in good humour with him; for there is nothing in nature more cheery and good-humoured, though hot-tempered and keenly alive to injury, than a bushman, caught young, and tamed and educated by real Christian people.
Three or four evenings after the incident described, as Frankfort and Ormsby sat by the river, after the last meal of the day, anxiously comparing the depth of water with a certain mark they had drawn on a jutting rock, their attention was diverted by an earnest “talk” going on between May and Zoonah.
The latter was deriding May’s idea of Umtiko (God). Zoonah, finding disguise was useless, now conversed in excellent English. May’s suppositions were right. He had been educated at Shiloh; but the care bestowed on a Kafir seldom answers the humane purpose intended. Savage he is, and savage he will he, unless, indeed, the age of miracles is not past and gone.
“You say that Umtiko is good,” said Zoonah; “how do you know it?”
May pointed out the benefits we derive from God.
“How do you know they come from him? Did you ever see him?”
“He is invisible.”
“If he is so good and so glorious, why does he not show himself? The teachers are always telling us about God; but first, a Kafir never believes what he does not see, and next, the teachers say that all men are liars; how, then, can they expect us to believe them?”