e to wit. This by way of compensation.

The process had another effect, that of making the injured man talk. He
for his part was a young Zulu of no particular account, and what he
stated was perfectly true, he went on to declare. The white man was a
trader known as Iqalaqala, and with him was another white man, a great
fighter, who could knock men senseless with his fists even as one might
do with a large and heavy stick. He who spoke knew, for he had seen it
done--not once only, either. At this Dolf Norbury's language grew
vehement and sultry again, and was interlarded by many aspirations after
just one glimpse of the man who could knock _him_ senseless or knock him
anything else. Only just one glimpse, that was all. The next thing he
did, by way of relieving his feelings was to start in and thrash the
nearest of his native wives--of which he had several--she, unfortunately
for her, being the one of least family standing, and therefore the least
likely to raise resentment on the part of the relatives--or others, a
thing which is bad for trade. Then he opened a bottle of "square face,"
took a very big drink, and putting the bottle in a pocket or his leather
coat went round to the chief's hut.

"I have news, Mawendhlela," he began, when he found himself inside.
"But"--with a look at some others who were seated there--"it will keep."

Not long was it before these took the hint, and stole out, one by one.
The chief's eyes twinkled as he noted the familiar bulge in the pocket
of his visitor.

"_Au_! it is cold," he said, pretending to shiver, "and I am getting on
in years and need warmth."

"This will give it you," said the white man, producing the bottle.

The chief's eyes sparkled as he watched the gurgling rush of the potent
liquid into the calabash drinking vessel. Then he tossed off half of it
with a gasp of contentment.

"That is indeed warm--yes, warm," he said.

"And good. But there will soon be no more."

"No more? Now why, Udolfu?"

"Because I am going--going away."

"Going away? Now that cannot be."

"It can and it is. There is no longer room for me here. There is a cow
at hand who will give you more milk than I can, but not such milk as
this--oh no!"

"Ha!"

"It is Iqalaqala who is the cow that lows at the gate. Iqalaqala does
not trade in strong drink--neither will he bring you any guns or
cartridges or powder and lead. His trade is the trade for women--beads,
coloured cloth, a