ons
also she talked a good deal, with the help of her father, to the three
sturdy-looking Makalanga, who were resting thankfully after their long
journey. Their conversation was general, since by tacit consent no
further mention was made of the treasure or of anything to do with it,
but it enabled her to form a fair opinion of them and their people. She
gathered that although they spoke a dialect of Zulu, they had none
of the bravery of the Zulus, and indeed lived in deadly terror of the
Matabele, who are bastard Zulus--such terror, in fact, that she greatly
doubted whether the hundred rifles would be of much use to them, should
they ever be attacked by that tribe.

They were what their fathers had been before them, agriculturists and
workers in metals--not fighting men. Also she set herself to learn what
she could of their tongue, which she did not find difficult, for Benita
had a natural aptitude for languages, and had never forgotten the Dutch
and Zulu she used to prattle as a child, which now came back to her
very fast. Indeed, she could already talk fairly in either of those
languages, especially as she spent her spare hours in studying their
grammar, and reading them.

So the days went on, till one evening Jacob Meyer appeared with two
Scotch carts laden with ten long boxes that looked like coffins, and
other smaller boxes which were very heavy, to say nothing of a multitude
of stores. As Mr. Clifford prophesied, he had forgotten nothing, for
he even brought Benita various articles of clothing, and a revolver for
which she had not asked.

Three days later they trekked away from Rooi Krantz upon a peculiarly
beautiful Sunday morning in the early spring, giving it out that they
were going upon a trading and shooting expedition in the north of the
Transvaal. Benita looked back at the pretty little stead and the wooded
kloof behind it over which she had nearly fallen, and the placid lake in
front of it where the nesting wildfowl wheeled, and sighed. For to her,
now that she was leaving it, the place seemed like home, and it came
into her mind that she would never see it any more.

VIII

BAMBATSE

Nearly four months had gone by when at length the waggon with which
were Mr. Clifford, Benita, and Jacob Meyer camped one night within the
country of the Molimo of Bambatse, whose name was Mambo. Or perhaps
that was his title, since (according to Tamas his son) every chief in
succession was called Mambo, though