Ford looked at her shrewdly. "Of course you do," he said. "But Van Zyl's not cruel. What he said is true; he 's been among Kafirs all his life."
"And learned nothing," retorted Margaret. "It 's beastly; it's just beastly. He can't even think they ever mean well; they only fight to steal, according to him. And then he 'takes the kick out of them!' Some day he 'll work himself up to crucify one of them."
"Hold on," said Ford. "You mustn't get excited; you know, Jakes doesn't allow it. And you 're really not quite just to Van Zyl."
"Isn't he proud of it?" asked Margaret scornfully.
"I wonder," said Ford. "But it 's just as likely he 's proud of policing a smallpox district single-handed and playing priest and nurse when he was only paid to be jailer and executioner. He got his promotion for that."
"Mr. Van Zyl did that?" asked Margaret incredulously. "Did he arrange to have the deaths over in time for tea?"
Ford laughed shortly. "You must ask him," he replied. "He 'll probably say he did. He 's very fond of tea. But at any rate, he sees as much downright hard fighting in a year as a man in the army might see in a lifetime and—" he looked at Margaret out of the corners of his eyes—"the Kafirs swear by him."
"The Kafirs do?" asked Margaret incredulously.
"They swear by him," Ford assured her. "You try Fat Mary some time; she 'll tell you."
"Oh, well," said Margaret; "I don't know. Things are beastly, anyhow, and I don't know which is worse—cruelty to Kafirs or the Kafirs' apparent enjoyment of it. That man has made me miserable."