“A savage!” exclaimed Pereira. “Is the tale of a savage to be taken against that of a white man? Also, who will translate his story? You, Mynheer Quatermain, are the only one here who knows his tongue, if you do know it, and you are my accuser.” “That is true,” remarked Retief. “Such a witness should not be admitted without a sworn interpreter. Now listen; I pass judgment as commandant in the field. Hernan Pereira, I have known you to be a rogue in the past, for I remember that you cheated this very young man, Allan Quatermain, at a friendly trial of skill at which I was present; but since then till now I have heard nothing more of you, good or bad. To-day this Allan Quatermain and a number of my own countrymen bring grave charges against you, which, however, at present are not capable of proof or disproof. Well, I cannot decide those charges, whatever my own opinion may be. I think that you had better go back with your uncle, Henri Marais, to the trek-Boers, where they can be laid before a court and settled according to law.” “If so, he will go back alone,” said the Vrouw Prinsloo. “He will not go back with us, for we will elect a field-cornet and shoot him—the stinkcat, who left us to starve and afterwards tried to kill little Allan Quatermain, who saved our lives”; and the chorus behind her echoed: “_Ja, ja_, we will shoot him.” “Hernan Pereira,” said Retief, rubbing his broad forehead, “I don’t quite know why it is, but no one seems to want you as a companion. Indeed, to speak truth, I don’t myself. Still, I think you would be safer with me than with these others whom you seem to have offended. Therefore, I suggest that you come on with us. But listen here, man,” he added sternly, “if I find you plotting against us among the Zulus, that hour you are dead. Do you understand?” “I understand that I am one slandered,” replied Pereira. “Still, it is Christian to submit to injuries, and therefore I will do as you wish. As to these bearers of false witness, I leave them to God.” “And I leave you to the devil,” shouted Vrouw Prinsloo, “who will certainly have you soon or late. Get out of my sight, stinkcat, or I will pull your hair off.” And she rushed at him, flapping her dreadful _vatdoek_—which she produced from some recess in her raiment—in his face, driving him away as though he were a noxious insect. Well, he went I know not where, and so strong was public opinion against him that I do not think that even his uncle, Henri Marais, sought him out to console him. When Pereira was gone, our party and that of Retief fell into talk, and we had much to tell. Especially was the commandant interested in the story of my bet with Dingaan, whereby I saved the lives of all my companions by shooting the vultures.