Saduko advanced, and I walked after him.  My stature is not great, and I have never considered myself an imposing person, but somehow I do not think that I ever felt more insignificant than on this occasion.  The tall and splendid native beside, or rather behind whom I walked, the gloomy magnificence of the place, the blood-red light in which it was bathed, and the solemn, solitary, little figure with wisdom stamped upon its face before me, all tended to induce humility in a man not naturally vain.  I felt myself growing smaller and smaller, both in a moral and a physical sense; I wished that my curiosity had not prompted me to seek an interview with yonder uncanny being.

Well, it was too late to retreat; indeed, Saduko was already standing before the dwarf and lifting his right arm above his head as he gave him the salute of “Makosi!"* whereon, feeling that something was expected of me, I took off my shabby cloth hat and bowed, then, remembering my white man’s pride, replaced it on my head.

[*—­“Makosi”, the plural of “Inkoosi”, is the salute given to Zulu wizards, because they are not one but many, since in them (as in the possessed demoniac in the Bible) dwell an unnumbered horde of spirits.—­Editor.]

The wizard suddenly seemed to become aware of our presence, for, ceasing his contemplation of the sinking sun, he scanned us both with his slow, thoughtful eyes, which somehow reminded me of those of a chameleon, although they were not prominent, but, as I have said, sunken.

“Greeting, son Saduko!” he said in a deep, rumbling voice.  “Why are you back here so soon, and why do you bring this flea of a white man with you?”

Now this was more than I could bear, so without waiting for my companion’s answer I broke in: 

“You give me a poor name, O Zikali.  What would you think of me if I called you a beetle of a wizard?”

“I should think you clever,” he answered after reflection, “for after all I must look something like a beetle with a white head.  But why should you mind being compared to a flea?  A flea works by night and so do you, Macumazahn; a flea is active and so are you; a flea is very hard to catch and kill and so are you; and lastly a flea drinks its fill of that which it desires, the blood of man and beast, and so you have done, do, and will, Macumazahn,” and he broke into a great laugh that rolled and echoed about the rocky roof above.

Once, long years before, I had heard that laugh, when I was a prisoner in Dingaan’s kraal, after the massacre of Retief and his company, and I recognised it again.

While I was searching for some answer in the same vein, and not finding it, though I thought of plenty afterwards, ceasing of a sudden from his unseemly mirth, he went on: 

“Do not let us waste time in jests, for it is a precious thing, and there is but little of it left for any one of us.  Your business, son Saduko?”