“Of course it does not matter in the least, Umbezi, except to Mameena and her husband, who no doubt will settle down in time, now that Saduko is married to a princess of the Zulu House.”

“I hope so, Macumazahn, but, to tell the truth, I wish you had brought more guns, for I live amongst a terrible lot of people.  Masapo, who is furious with Mameena because she will have none of him, and therefore with me, as though I could control Mameena; Mameena, who is mad with Masapo, and therefore with me, because I gave her in marriage to him; Saduko, who foams at the mouth at the name of Masapo, because he has married Mameena, whom, it is said, he still loves, and therefore at me, because I am her father and did my best to settle her in the world.  Oh, give me some more of that fire-water, Macumazahn, for it makes me forget all these things, and especially that my guardian spirit made me the father of Mameena, with whom you would not run away when you might have done so.  Oh, Macumazahn, why did you not run away with Mameena, and turn her into a quiet white woman who ties herself up in sacks, sings songs to the ‘Great-Great’ in the sky—­[that is, hymns to the Power above us]—­and never thinks of any man who is not her husband?”

“Because if I had done so, Umbezi, I should have ceased to be a quiet white man.  Yes, yes, my friend, I should have been in some such place as yours to-day, and that is the last thing that I wish.  And now, Umbezi, you have had quite enough ‘squareface,’ so I will take the bottle away with me.  Good-night.”

On the following morning I trekked very early from Umbezi’s kraal—­before he was up indeed, for the “squareface” made him sleep sound.  My destination was Nodwengu, Panda’s Great Place, where I hoped to do some trading, but, as I was in no particular hurry, my plan was to go round by Masapo’s, and see for myself how it fared between him and Mameena.  Indeed, I reached the borders of the Amasomi territory, whereof Masapo was chief, by evening, and camped there.  But with the night came reflection, and reflection told me that I should do well to keep clear of Mameena and her domestic complications, if she had any.  So I changed my mind, and next morning trekked on to Nodwengu by the only route that my guides reported to be practicable, one which took me a long way round.

That day, owing to the roughness of the road—­if road it could be called—­and an accident to one of the wagons, we only covered about fifteen miles, and as night fell were obliged to outspan at the first spot where we could find water.  When the oxen had been unyoked I looked about me, and saw that we were in a place that, although I had approached it from a somewhat different direction, I recognised at once as the mouth of the Black Kloof, in which, over a year before, I had interviewed Zikali the Little and Wise.  There was no mistaking the spot; that blasted valley, with the piled-up columns of boulders and the overhanging cliff at the end of it, have, so far as I am aware, no exact counterparts in Africa.