“Why do you come here, white men,” he asked, “uninvited and against the law of my land, where only one white man is welcome, my brother Dogeetah, who cured me of sickness with a knife?  I know who you are.  You are dealers in men.  You come here to steal my people and sell them into slavery.  You had many slaves with you on the borders of my country, but you sent them away.  You shall die, you shall die, you who call yourselves lions, and the painted rag which you say shadows the world, shall rot with your bones.  As for that box which sings a war-song, I will smash it; it shall not bewitch me as your magic shield bewitched my great doctor, Imbozwi, burning off his hair.”

Then springing up with wonderful agility for one so fat, he knocked the musical box from Hans’ head, so that it fell to the ground and after a little whirring grew silent.

“That is right,” squeaked Imbozwi.  “Trample on their magic, O Elephant.  Kill them, O Black One; burn them as they burned my hair.”

Now things were, I felt, very serious, for already Bausi was looking about him as though to order his soldiers to make an end of us.  So I said in desperation: 

“O King, you mentioned a certain white man, Dogeetah, a doctor of doctors, who cured you of sickness with a knife, and called him your brother.  Well, he is our brother also, and it was by his invitation that we have come to visit you here, where he will meet us presently.”

“If Dogeetah is your friend, then you are my friends,” answered Bausi, “for in this land he rules as I rule, he whose blood flows in my veins, as my blood flows in his veins.  But you lie.  Dogeetah is no brother of slave-dealers, his heart is good and yours are evil.  You say that he will meet you here.  When will he meet you?  Tell me, and if it is soon, I will hold my hand and wait to hear his report of you before I put you to death, for if he speaks well of you, you shall not die.”

Now I hesitated, as well I might, for I felt that looking at our case from his point of view, Bausi, believing us to be slave-traders, was not angry without cause.  While I was racking my brains for a reply that might be acceptable to him and would not commit us too deeply, to my astonishment Mavovo stepped forward and confronted the king.

“Who are you, fellow?” shouted Bausi.

“I am a warrior, O King, as my scars show,” and he pointed to the assegai wounds upon his breast and to his cut nostril.  “I am a chief of a people from whom your people sprang and my name is Mavovo, Mavovo who is ready to fight you or any man whom you may name, and to kill him or you if you will.  Is there one here who wishes to be killed?”

No one answered, for the mighty-chested Zulu looked very formidable.

“I am a doctor also,” went on Mavovo, “one of the greatest of doctors who can open the ‘Gates of Distance’ and read that which is hid in the womb of the Future.  Therefore I will answer your questions which you put to the lord Macumazana, the great and wise white man whom I serve, because we have fought together in many battles.  Yes, I will be his Mouth, I will answer.  The white man Dogeetah, who is your blood-brother and whose word is your word among the Mazitu, will arrive here at sunset on the second day from now.  I have spoken.”