At the end of five days of untold hardships we climbed out of the Valley of Heaven and reached the stream that divides the royal from the common ground at Zombode. We arrived there at about nine o'clock at night. Fires were burning in front of many of the huts and there was a hum of life in the air. The sounds were all the more noticeable because no one appeared to have any intention of meeting us or giving us a welcome. We pitched camp and Din prepared the evening meal. By this time we had a score of little visitors, all Swazi children of about ten or twelve years of age. Usually these little beggars are in bed at this time of night, but the noise of our wagons had aroused them and they had sneaked out of the huts to investigate. None of the indunas, warriors, or women came near us, and I soon realized that we were in disfavor for some reason or other. Only a direct command from Lomwazi or the old queen would have made the people avoid us in this manner. However, it was not fitting that I should visit the royal kraal without invitation, so I did not stir from our camp that night. In the morning I announced my arrival to Labotsibeni without the indignity of supplicating an interview. This came about in a peculiar manner. Shortly after dawn I was awakened by the deep bass of a native who seemingly was greatly annoyed. The voice was strangely familiar, but I could not place it for the moment. In a little while Sibijaan came into the tent with my coffee and announced that I had a visitor. "Ou Baas, there is a great induna outside," he said, "and he wants to see you. He says he is very angry. Shall I tell him to go to hell?" Thirsting for information regarding things at the royal kraal, I bade Sibijaan send him in. This my old playmate did with poor grace, since he would have preferred to be cheeky to the chief. To my surprise, Manaan--he of the savings-bank account--strode in. He was carrying his war tools and stood facing me for an instant in quite a belligerent attitude. I was wearing only a thin bathrobe and for a second or two the angry black man faced the white. Then the age-old supremacy of race asserted itself and Manaan dropped his eyes with the familiar "Nkoos!" "What the devil is the matter with you?" I demanded angrily. "Why do you make all this row so early in the morning?" "Peace, Nkoos, peace!" the old induna answered. "I did not know that it was you. I would not have made talk if I had known." Then he went on to explain that our donkeys had strayed across the stream during the night and had ruined his corn patch. He insisted that the poor beasts had eaten all the young corn and that he and all his wives faced starvation during the coming year. What he really was worried about, it developed, was that there would be no corn to make tswala and in consequence he would have to go without his beer until a new crop came in.