Well, as soon as I reached the kraal I saw that some kind of festivity was in progress, for an ox had been killed and was being cooked, some of it in pots and some by roasting; also there were several strange Zulus present.  Within the fence of the kraal, seated in its shadow, I found Umbezi and some of his headmen, and with them a great, brawny “ringed” native, who wore a tiger-skin moocha as a mark of rank, and some of his headmen.  Also Mameena was standing near the gate, dressed in her best beads and holding a gourd of Kafir beer which, evidently, she had just been handing to the guests.

“Would you have run away without saying good-bye to me, Macumazahn?” she whispered to me as I came abreast of her.  “That is unkind of you, and I should have wept much.  However, it was not so fated.”

“I was going to ride up and bid farewell when the oxen were inspanned,” I answered.  “But who is that man?”

“You will find out presently, Macumazahn.  Look, my father is beckoning to us.”

So I went on to the circle, and as I advanced Umbezi rose and, taking me by the hand, led me to the big man, saying: 

“This is Masapo, chief of the Amansomi, of the Quabe race, who desires to know you, Macumazahn.”

“Very kind of him, I am sure,” I replied coolly, as I threw my eye over Masapo.  He was, as I have said, a big man, and of about fifty years of age, for his hair was tinged with grey.  To be frank, I took a great dislike to him at once, for there was something in his strong, coarse face, and his air of insolent pride, which repelled me.  Then I was silent, since among the Zulus, when two strangers of more or less equal rank meet, he who speaks first acknowledges inferiority to the other.  Therefore I stood and contemplated this new suitor of Mameena, waiting on events.

Masapo also contemplated me, then made some remark to one of his attendants, that I did not catch, which caused the fellow to laugh.

“He has heard that you are an ipisi” (a great hunter), broke in Umbezi, who evidently felt that the situation was growing strained, and that it was necessary to say something.

“Has he?” I answered.  “Then he is more fortunate than I am, for I have never heard of him or what he is.”  This, I am sorry to say, was a fib, for it will be remembered that Mameena had mentioned him in the hut as one of her suitors, but among natives one must keep up one’s dignity somehow.  “Friend Umbezi,” I went on, “I have come to bid you farewell, as I am about to trek for Durban.”

At this juncture Masapo stretched out his great hand to me, but without rising, and said: 

“Siyakubona [that is, good-day], White Man.”

“Siyakubona, Black Man,” I answered, just touching his fingers, while Mameena, who had come up again with her beer, and was facing me, made a little grimace and tittered.

Now I turned on my heel to go, whereon Masapo said in a coarse, growling voice: