Part 55 (2/2)

Lilian, too, remembered that time; nor was she ever likely to forget it.

A soft light came into her eyes, and she wished mightily that Marshall was not with them.

”Well, I dunno,” rejoined that worthy. ”It may, and it mayn't. We shall see, and very soon. Why, who's this?”

They looked up. The track they had been following merged into a waggon-road, and about a hundred yards in front of them stood a low thatched building. It was a native trading-store. Not this, however, but the sight of a characteristic group, drew forth the remark. Seated on the ground, with his back against the wall, was a Kafir, an old man, with a full white beard, and a face which might have been at one time pleasing and intelligent. A blanket was thrown over his shoulders, and his lower limbs were encased in a pair of ancient trousers, from whose tattered extremities projected his bare, dusty feet, one of which was deformed. He was surrounded by a group of his compatriots; some in European attire, others in blankets only, and red with ochre; some sitting, some standing, some running in and out, but all jabbering.

”Why, I declare?” exclaimed Marshall, in surprise. ”If it isn't Sandili! What on earth can the old blackguard be doing here?”

”Sandili?” cried Lilian. ”The chief? Oh, do let's go and talk to him.”

”We will,” agreed Claverton. ”Prepare for an interview with royalty.”

The Kafirs stopped jabbering for a minute to stare in astonishment at the party as it rode into their midst, then went on harder than ever.

It was as Marshall had said. This old savage, with nothing remarkable-looking about him, unless it were that his countenance wore an air of semi-drunken stupidity--for he had been imbibing freely, according to his wont--was none other than Sandili, the chief of the powerful and warlike Gaika tribe, who, of all the Amaxosa race, had, in former wars, ever been the most formidable of the colonists' foes.

”He says he's glad to see us,” explained Claverton, as having conferred for a little with the old chief, he turned, in response to his companion's inquiring glance. ”In a minute he'll be even more glad.

Look,” and he emptied half the contents of his tobacco-pouch into the chief's hands, who immediately instructed one of his followers to fill his pipe, and looked quite benevolently at the donor.

”Why, how delighted he is with it!” said Lilian, watching the interesting individual before her, with a curious glance.

”Yes, but unless I mistake, he'll want farther delighting directly,”

answered Claverton. ”The principle of extending the proverbial inch to the ditto ell, is thoroughly well understood in Kafirland.”

And sure enough the old fellow began making signs and pointing to his month, after a few words in his own language.

”What does he say?” asked Lilian.

”Just what I told you. He's thirsty, and wants sixpence to get a drink.”

”Old blackguard,” said Marshall. ”He's got quite as much grog on board already as is good for him.”

Lilian laughed. ”Only think of a great chief like him, asking for sixpence like a crossing-sweeper,” she said.

The Kafirs standing around had stopped their conversation, and were gazing admiringly at Lilian, with many a half-smothered exclamation of astonishment. They had seen many white women on the farms, and when they had visited King Williamstown; but never had they seen any more bewitchingly lovely than this one, who sat there looking down on their chief.

Claverton produced a sixpence and handed it to one of the attendants, who disappeared into the store, which was also a canteen, shortly returning with a measure of the ordinary bad brandy sold to the natives.

This Sandili drained without a pause, and looked up again at the group, remarking that it was good.

”Oh, what can be the matter?” exclaimed Lilian, in a frightened tone, as a hubbub of angry voices arose within the store; and before she could receive an answer, a brawny red Kafir suddenly shot out of the door, reeling forward with a quick yet uneven gait suggestive of artificial propulsion, and half-a-dozen others, with excited ”whouws!” also emerged and stood around the door, as if expecting something.

They had not long to expect, for the evicted savage, having staggered a dozen yards, polled himself together and stood shaking his kerries at some one inside, as with flas.h.i.+ng eyes he hurled a torrent of abuse at the unseen antagonist. But a bottle, which came whizzing through the open door, hit him on the shoulder, cutting his eloquence suddenly short, and, deeming discretion the better part of valour, he sneaked round the angle of the wall, muttering and growling, while the others stood looking on in dead silence.

”Don't be frightened, Lilian,” said Claverton, rea.s.suringly, noting that she was growing rather pale. ”It's only a fellow been kicked out by the storekeeper, probably for making himself a nuisance. It's a thing that happens every day.”

”But he looks as if he'd kill him. I never saw a man look so ferocious,” she faltered.

”Oh no, he won't,” answered Claverton, with a laugh. ”In half an hour he'll sneak round, and ask for a drink to make it square again. That's what they do.”

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