Jim Gubo and Kalaza talked about many things—of life at the convict station, for Kalaza was the nephew of Jim's father's second wife, and Jim consequently knew all about his companion; of the decadence of the times, in which it was so difficult for a poor man to live without working; of the strictness with which the locations were managed; of how the inspectors inquired inconveniently as to strangers therein sojourning, and chiefly about the decline in Jim's particular line of business.
"Son of my father," said Jim, "times are very bad indeed. There is little or no stock-stealing going on. The farmers come to the office and report losses of sheep; we are sent to hunt for the thieves, but instead of catching them, we find that the sheep have simply strayed into some other farmer's flock. Will you believe it; for two months we have not run in a single thief?"
"Mawo," replied Kalaza, "how very discouraging."
"Yes, and Government thinks we are not doing our duty, and my officer says we are no good."
"But can you not make them steal, or make the magistrate think they do?" rejoined Kalaza, after a pause.
"Wait a bit, that is what I am coming to," said Jim, in a low tone. "There is one man whom I know to be a thief, but though I have tried to, over and over again, I cannot catch him."
"Who is that?"
"Maliwe, the son of Zangalele, the Kafir whose brother Tambiso gave evidence against you when you were tried by the judge."
Here the beady eyes of Kalaza gave a kind of snap, and he leant forward with an appearance of increased interest.
"Tell me about Maliwe," he said.