A little later we dropped into the Valley of Heaven. This is really the most delightful valley in Swaziland. It is well watered, and thousands of the natives have their kraals there. Swaziland is a broken country, alternating between veldt of from two to five, and even six thousand feet, and there are small rivers everywhere, flowing from west to east. Each of these rivers has cut out its own valley, but the Valley of Heaven is the most fertile and beautiful of all. Trees, sometimes in clumps but more often singly, are found along the banks of the rivers and each kraal is practically surrounded by big and little ones. Our progress down the Valley of Heaven was practically a parade. At each kraal or village, a village being a collection of kraals, we would be greeted by hundreds of warriors and children. The women would usually remain in the background, but were quite in evidence. Young as I was, I could not help noting that they were the finest looking savages I had ever seen. These women have perfectly proportioned bodies and stand erect, with their heads thrown back. They are the women of a proud nation, and they show it. I particularly noticed their splendid shoulders, these and their erect carriage being due to carrying all burdens on their heads. At each village the local chief would offer us tswala, or kaffir beer, and we were lucky to be important enough to be able to refuse to drink. If we had taken all that was offered, we would have been drowned long before the end of the first day in the Valley of Heaven. The fact that our escort consisted of picked warriors from the royal troops and that Oom Tuys was known to be the intimate of their king made it permissible for us to refuse to associate with the little chiefs along the line of march. Camp on the last night before reaching the royal kraal at Zombode was pitched in the valley, and we saw the sun set over the plateau on which King Buno made his headquarters. After supper that night Oom Tuys confided to me a great secret. "Buno has asked me a thousand times to bring him a rifle," he said, "but always I have refused. As you know, the Swazis, like other kaffirs, are not allowed to have guns. Death is the punishment we deal out to those who sell rifles to these savages. Now Buno has his heart set on owning a rifle, and the last time I saw him I promised that I would get him one. "In the cart I have a Mauser with about five thousand cartridges, and the outfit is for Buno. You will want to come to Swaziland many times in the future, so I am going to make Buno your friend for life. I am going to allow you to present the Mauser to him! "No one will know how he got it and you will be as big a man in Swaziland as I am, once you have given the rifle to Buno. Now what do you think of your Uncle Tuys?" Naturally, I was very grateful, since I had already begun to feel the lure of Swaziland and dearly wanted to be a little king there myself.