"Now we go and eat him.
Come."

For the speaker had been carefully planning this adventure for some days
past, consequently it was not surprising that when the two gained the
congenial hiding-place formed by a deep dry ditch with clayey
overhanging banks, the whole well concealed by brambles, the materials
for a fire were laid and ready, and only wanted lighting. The fireplace
was cunningly scooped out of the clay bank, and now, in deft manner
known to himself, the Zulu boy managed to light and foster that fire in
such wise that it soon consisted of a mass of ardent and glowing
charcoal, giving forth little or no smoke. The while the birds had been
hastily plucked and cut in pieces, and set on the embers to broil.

It was almost worth while undergoing his long imprisonment to have such
glorious fun as this, thought Haviland, as he watched the hissing and
sputtering flesh which, but half an hour ago, had been alive and totally
unsuspicious of approaching fate. The dry ditch became a sort of cave
of romance, an episode in a life of wild adventure. Perhaps some day,
at no great distance of time either, such a life might be his. And as
the roast went on, his dusky companion told him strange tales of his own
country--tales of war, of stirring sights he himself had looked on with
childish eyes, of grim legends fraught with mysterious horror; stories,
too, of widespread slaughter, and ruthless, unsparing revenge. The
listener's blood was all on fire.

"I say, Cetchy, I would like to go to that country of yours," he said,
half breathlessly. "Perhaps I will one of these days."

"Ha! you come. We have good fun then. But it's no longer good country.
The English have driven out the king--broken up the people. Ha!"

The first instalment of the broil was ready, and they fell upon it with
a will, the while Anthony had raked up the fire and put on as much more
of the birds as it would hold.

"Cetchy, old chap, this is splendid," said Haviland gleefully, as with
their pocket-knives they stripped the flesh from the bones, and devoured
it with their healthy school appetites. "Why Nick himself can't get
roast pheasant now for love or money, because it's out of season. Old
brute! I'd like to give him a turn on that fire. Eh?"

"Oh yes, make him wriggle on it like Umbelini make the Tonga prisoners I
was goin' to tell about. They go work in diamond mines, come back
through Umbelini's country with plenty money. They no