Joe Fleetwood, and among the natives as "U' Joe," and he
was an up-country trader.

"You did the right thing, Wyvern, when you decided to come up here," the
latter was saying, "and in a few months' time"--lowering his voice--"if
we pull off this jaunt all right, we need neither of us ever take our
jackets off again for the rest of our natural lives."

"Not, eh? Didn't know you could make such a rapid fortune in the native
trade."

The other smiled drily.

"Look here, Wyvern. You only landed last night--and a most infernal
bucketing you seem to have got on that poisonous bar in doing so. So
that we've had no opportunity of having a straight, square talk. We
won't have it here--too many doors and windows about for that I propose,
therefore, that we get on a tram and run down to the back beach--we'll
have it all to ourselves there. First of all, though, we'll have these
glasses refilled. I don't believe in starting dry. Boy!"

A turbaned Indian waiter glided up, and reappeared in a moment with two
long tumblers.

"That's good," exclaimed Fleetwood, having poured down more than half of
the sparkling contents of his. "Durban is one of the thirstiest places
I've ever struck."

Not much was said as they took their way through the bustle of the
streets, bright with the gaudy clothes worn by the Indian population,
whose thin, chattering voices formed as great a contrast to the deep,
sonorous tones of the manly natives of the land as did their respective
owners in aspect and physique.

"By Jove! it brings back old times, seeing these head-ringed chaps about
again," said Wyvern, turning to look at a particularly fine specimen of
them that had just stalked past. "I wonder if I'd like to go over all
our campaigning ground again."

"Our jaunt this time will take us rather off it. I say--that time we
ran the gauntlet through to Kambula, from that infernal mountain. It
was something to remember, eh?"

Wyvern looked grave.

"One might run as narrow a shave as that again, but it's a dead cert we
couldn't run a narrower one," he said.

"Not much. I say, though. You've seen some rather different times
since then. Let on, old chap--is that _her_ portrait you've got stuck
up in Number 3 Ulundi Square? Because, if so, you're in luck's way, by
jingo you are."

"You're quite right, Fleetwood, as to both ventures. Only a third
ingredient is unfortunately needed to render the luck complete, and that
is a sufficie