"Oh, some rotten bother with that old nigger who was out to-day, Madula. Nanzicele--Oh, blazes! I can't manage these infernal clicks." "Never mind; you'll learn some day," said Crosse. "Well, what did Nanzicele do?" "Nothing. That's the point of the whole joke. He was sent to collar some cattle from Madula, and he--didn't collar it." "And is that why he was reduced?" "No fear. It was for _trying_ to collar it. The niggers came in and complained to Ames, and Ames insisted on an inquiry. He took two mortal days over it, too; a rotten trumpery affair that ought to have been let rip. Then a lot of darn red tape, and my sergeant was reduced. No; Ames always pampers the niggers, and some day he'll find out his mistake. If they come around--especially these indunas--he talks to them as if they were somebody. _I'd_ sjambok them out of the compound." Crosse, listening, was chuckling to himself, for he knew whose judgment was likely to be the soundest, that of the speaker or that of Ames. Then he said:-- "And this Nanzicele--is he that big tall Kafir who was nearest us, on the outside of the line, during the cattle-shooting?" "Yes; that's the chap. By George! he's a splendid chap, as plucky as the very devil. Many a time I've had him out with me, and he'd go through anything. He was with me once when I missed a charging lion out beyond Inyati. _He_ didn't miss him, though--not much. I'd trust my life to that fellow any day in the week." "Trust your life to him, would you?" "Yes. Rather." "M--m!" "Yes, I would. You don't know the chap, Crosse. I do. See?" "'M--yes." The while, John Ames, having turned his horse over to his boy, entered his office. There was not much to do that day, as it happened, so after spending half an hour looking over some papers, he locked up for the day, and adjourned to the hut which served him for sitting and dining room combined, in which we have already seen him. He threw himself into a chair and lighted a pipe. There was an absent, thoughtful look in his eyes, which had been there ever since he found himself alone; wherefore it is hardly surprising that in lieu of seeking solace in literature, he should have sat, to all outward appearances, doing nothing. In reality, he was thinking--thinking hard and deeply.