me keenly, wagging his big head
to and fro, and burst into another of his great laughs.

So I went. But, ah! as I went I wept.

Anyone who knew all that story would understand why. But this is not the
place to tell it, that tale of my first love and of the terrible events
which befell us in the time of Dingaan. Still, as I say, I have written
it down, and perhaps one day it will be read.

CHAPTER III. THE BUFFALO WITH THE CLEFT HORN

I slept very well that night, I suppose because I was so dog-tired
I could not help it; but next day, on our long walk back to Umbezi's
kraal, I thought a great deal.

Without doubt I had seen and heard very strange things, both of the
past and the present--things that I could not in the least understand.
Moreover, they were mixed up with all sorts of questions of high Zulu
policy, and threw a new light upon events that happened to me and others
in my youth.

Now, in the clear sunlight, was the time to analyse these things, and
this I did in the most logical fashion I could command, although without
the slightest assistance from Saduko, who, when I asked him questions,
merely shrugged his shoulders.

These questions, he said, did not interest him; I had wished to see the
magic of Zikali, and Zikali had been pleased to show me some very good
magic, quite of his best indeed. Also he had conversed alone with me
afterwards, doubtless on high matters--so high that he, Saduko, was not
admitted to share the conversation--which was an honour he accorded
to very few. I could form my own conclusions in the light of the White
Man's wisdom, which everyone knew was great.

I replied shortly that I could, for Saduko's tone irritated me. Of
course, the truth was that he felt aggrieved at being sent off to
bed like a little boy while his foster-father, the old dwarf, made
confidences to me. One of Saduko's faults was that he had always a very
good opinion of himself. Also he was by nature terribly jealous, even in
little things, as the readers of his history, if any, will learn.

We trudged on for several hours in silence, broken at length by my
companion.

"Do you still mean to go on a shooting expedition with Umbezi, Inkoosi?"
he asked, "or are you afraid?"

"Of what should I be afraid?" I answered tartly.

"Of the buffalo with the split horn, of which Zikali told you. What
else?"

Now, I fear I used strong language about the buffalo with the split
horn, a beast in which I decla