The party turned away, tired and hungry, and marched in silence to the clump of trees near the spruit below the house. There was no other water near, so they made camp for the night there.
It was dark. Occasionally the brighter gleams of the fire lighted up the circle of sullen faces. There was nothing to eat or drink, so they had settled down to a monotonous chorus of curses on the renegade he had turned his back on his own colour. One by one each added his quota of bitter, unmeasured abuse until their vocabularies, comprehensive as they were, began to give out, and only now and then a mere exclamation of disgust, or a well-brooded curse, would break the heavy silence.
There being nothing to cook, there was nothing to do at that time of evening but to brood on their wrongs. They did this thoroughly until a faint rustle in the wood made them look round, and then a child’s voice close behind the group gave the Kaffir salutation “Makos!” Someone raised a brand from the fire, and by its light they saw two umfaans bearing on their heads a large earthen bowl each. One bowl contained fresh milk, the other a stew of fowls and stamped mealies.
The boys had the look of bright intelligence characteristic of the Zulu race, but when Bankerpitt asked sharply, “Who sent this?” they exchanged one glance, and a cloud of the densest stupidity settled on their faces. Bankerpitt repeated his question, dragging one urchin closer to the fire. The reply, given in a thin, childish treble, was:
“It is food, white man! It is here!”
“Tell me!” he said fiercely, giving the child’s arm a shake, “does it come from that white dog up there?”
Even in the urchins of the race there is the instinct of evasion which enables them to baffle the closest inquiries.
“It is food for the white man. It is here!” was all that Bankerpitt’s bullying could elicit.
“If we take it, it’s because we must; but, by God! we’ll pay him for it, same as we would any other blasted nigger!” exclaimed Bankerpitt savagely; and he drew from his leathern belt-pouch the three shillings it contained and thrust them into the umfaan’s hand. The coins were dropped like hot coals, and the child said:
“I want no money, white man; I bring a gift.”