'See—see!' he cried. 'See, master, a Matabele coming over the water!'
I looked up. Sure enough a 'nigger' was swimming the river, which was deep just at this place and about thirty yards in width.
I was about to raise my rifle to shoot the fellow, for at first sight it appeared to be an attack in the rear; but something about the man caused me to look closer; I seemed to know the face, which, though dark, was not quite so dusky as the usual complexion of the Mashona fellows, neither was the type of face that of the Matabeles.
I set down my rifle and waited until he should land. It had occurred to me that this might be Umkopo. A moment or two later he climbed ashore—it was Umkopo, sure enough.
'Umkopo!' I hailed him—'it is you!' I saw the youth stand and gaze at me. He was taller now than two years ago, and he wore—in spite of his soaking condition at this moment—an air of much dignity. He had on a Norfolk coat and trousers of obviously English make, though they were none that I had given him. Moreover, when he spoke to me in English, though he was by no means proficient in our language, yet he certainly spoke it much better than when I last saw him.
'Come up here and speak to me,' I said. 'Why are you there?'
Urnkopo laughed. He pointed in a dignified way towards the Matabele impi in the distance. 'I am here,' he said, 'because these fools are here. If I was not here you would die.'
(Continued on page [205].)