he eye against the bright green of the
pastures, though by no means pleasing to another sense, at far closer
quarters. But the thorn enclosures contain no cattle, although it is
milking-time, nor do any stand around outside, only a few sheep and
goats. This is strange.

Harley Greenoak, pacing his horse up the valley, noted the fact, and--
read it at its real meaning. And its real meaning did not augur well
either for the situation or for his self-imposed mission by which he had
hoped to improve the latter. But little time was to be his for tranquil
reflection, for there was a savage rush of dogs from two of the clusters
of huts he was passing at a hundred yards or so, and a tumultuous
snapping and snarling round his horse's heels. It was followed
immediately by a scarcely less tumultuous irruption of the inhabitants.
These poured forward, vociferating volubly. All had sticks, and a
goodly proportion carried assegais. Their demeanour was not friendly.

But the foremost pulled up short, then the rest. The rush subsided into
a walk.

"_Whau_! It is Kulondeka!"

No weapon had been presented, or even significantly handled. No change
had come over the imperturbability of the horseman. It was only the
name, the mesmerism, so to say, of the personality. That was all.

"I see you," was the answer. "But I did not come to see _you_." And
the speaker rode unconcernedly on.

The crowd, who had now stoned and beaten off the dogs, fell in behind,
talking in an undertone among itself. From every additional kraal
passed, others came forth to swell it, at first aggressively hostile in
attitude, then more subdued, but always sullen. In fact, Greenoak
remarked that the prevailing attitude was that of sullenness.

"The grass is green and abundant. There should be good pasture for the
cattle here now," he remarked over his shoulder to the foremost. "There
will be plenty of fatness and milk this season."

A deep-toned murmur, in which he was quick to detect a covert sneer,
greeted his words.

"_Ewa_--_Ewa_! Plenty of fatness this season, Kulondeka," answered
several voices. And the same unmistakable sneer underlay the words.

"Turn back, Kulondeka," now said one, a man who seemed to be in some
authority, as he came up along side of the horseman. "We do not want
any white people about here now. The chief is tired of them."

"The chief! But it is not the chief I am going to see, Mafutana. It is
his son."