“I must find Nyawuza,” Nomusa said firmly.
“Then I shall go with you,” said Mdingi.
“No, no! You must milk the cows. And say nothing about this. Our father is in our hut now; if he hears what has happened he will be very angry. My work is finished; I shall not be missed.”
“I cannot let you go alone,” Mdingi protested. “Nyawuza knows my whistle.”
“Show me how you whistle,” directed Nomusa.
Mdingi whistled, and Nomusa imitated him. After a few tries she could do it exactly like Mdingi. Here is one more thing Nomusa can do as well as I, Mdingi thought bitterly. She should have been the boy.
“Do not say anything about the lost cow,” Nomusa cautioned. “Tomorrow is the day of Damasi’s party, and we might not be allowed to go.”
Out of the kraal flew Nomusa like a small wild thing, her neck pocket bouncing as she ran. Her brothers watched her go, now worried about Nomusa as well as the cow.
“I should not have let her go,” muttered Mdingi to Kangata as they went to the cattlefold to do the milking.
Nomusa ran along the deeply marked path which the cattle had made on their way from the kraal to the pasture. She wasted no time, but still her keen eyes saw signs that told what her brothers did in the pasture all day.