“I give you greeting, Bull-Head,” answered Sigwe courteously, “and I thank you for your visit to my town; presently an ox shall be sent for you to eat.  As for this matter of the white lady and her companion it is one that we can inquire into at leisure.  I hear that she is the daughter of the big Boer whom the natives of the coast name Thick-Arm; also that you murdered the lady’s husband and carried her off by force to be your wife instead of his.  Now here, as you know, I am chief paramount, for having of our blood in your veins, you understand our customs, and, therefore, I must see justice done, especially as I do not wish to bring a quarrel with the white people upon our heads.  So off-saddle a while, and to-morrow before I start upon a certain journey, I will summon my counsellors and we will try the case.”

Now by this time Swart Piet, who, as Sigwe had said, understood the customs of the Kaffirs, knew very well that the chief was making excuses, and would not surrender Suzanne to him.  For a while he kept himself calm, but when this knowledge came home to his mind his reason left him, and he grew more than commonly mad with rage and disappointment, for after all his crimes and toil Suzanne was now as far from him as ever.  Springing from his horse, but still keeping the gun in his hand, he ran up to the triple ring of soldiers, pausing only at the hedge of assegais which shone about it.

“Open,” he said, “open, you red dogs!” but not a spear moved.  Twice he ran round the circle, then he stopped and cried, “Sihamba.  Is Sihamba here?”

“Surely, Bull-Head,” answered the little woman, walking forward from where she stood behind the schimmel.  “Where else should I be?  I pray you, soldiers, draw a little way but not far apart, that yonder half-breed may satisfy his eyes with the sight of me.  So, a little way, but not far, for I who know him like him best at a distance.  Now, Bull-Head,” she went on, “what is it that you wish to talk about—­the Englishman, Ralph Kenzie, the husband of Swallow yonder?  You thought you killed him.  Well, it was not so; I lifted him living from the water, and I, who am a doctoress, tell you that his wound is of no account, and that soon he will be strong again and seeking a word with you, Half-breed.  No, not of him?  Then perhaps it is of your hidden krantz and the new hut you built in it.  Bah!  I knew its secret long ago and—­that hut has too wide a smoke-hole.  Go back and ask him who guarded it if this is not true.  What!  Not of that either?  Then would you speak of the ride which we have taken?  Ah! man, I thought at least that you were no coward, and yet even when you had us in your hand, you did not dare to face the Red Water which two women swam on one tired horse.  Look at him, soldiers, look at the brave cross-bred chief who dared not swim his horse across one little stream.”

Now while the soldiers laughed Swart Piet stamped upon the ground, foaming with rage, for Sihamba’s bitter words stuck in him like barbed assegais.