“And where are the hunters?” I asked. “They are here and behind me,” he said in English, holding out his pot for my meal, while he began to edge into the middle of the road. I followed, and, speaking English, asked him if he knew of a man named Colles. “I come from him, young Baas. Where is your house? Ah, the school. There will be a way in by the back window? See that it is open, for I’ll be there shortly.” Then lifting up his voice he called down in Sesuto all manner of blessings on me for my kindness, and went shuffling down the sunlit road, coughing like a volcano. In high excitement I locked up the store and went over to Mr Wardlaw. No children had come to school that day, and he was sitting idle, playing patience. “Lock the door,” I said, “and come into my room. We’re on the brink of explanations.” In about twenty minutes the bush below the back-window parted and the Kaffir slipped out. He grinned at me, and after a glance round, hopped very nimbly over the sill. Then he examined the window and pulled the curtains. “Is the outer door shut?” he asked in excellent English. “Well, get me some hot water, and any spare clothes you may possess, Mr Crawfurd. I must get comfortable before we begin our _indaba_.[2] We’ve the night before us, so there’s plenty of time. But get the house clear, and see that nobody disturbs me at my toilet. I am a modest man, and sensitive about my looks.” I brought him what he wanted, and looked on at an amazing transformation. Taking a phial from his bundle, he rubbed some liquid on his face and neck and hands, and got rid of the black colouring. His body and legs he left untouched, save that he covered them with shirt and trousers from my wardrobe. Then he pulled off a scaly wig, and showed beneath it a head of close-cropped grizzled hair. In ten minutes the old Kaffir had been transformed into an active soldierly-looking man of maybe fifty years. Mr Wardlaw stared as if he had seen a resurrection. “I had better introduce myself,” he said, when he had taken the edge off his thirst and hunger. “My name is Arcoll, Captain James Arcoll. I am speaking to Mr Crawfurd, the storekeeper, and Mr Wardlaw, the schoolmaster, of Blaauwildebeestefontein. Where, by the way, is Mr Peter Japp? Drunk? Ah, yes, it was always his failing. The quorum, however, is complete without him.” By this time it was about sunset, and I remember I cocked my ear to hear the drums beat. Captain Arcoll noticed the movement as he noticed all else. “You’re listening for the drums, but you won’t hear them. That business is over here. To-night they beat in Swaziland and down into the Tonga border. Three days more, unless you and I, Mr Crawfurd, are extra smart, and they’ll be hearing them in Durban.” It was not till the lamp was lit, the fire burning well, and the house locked and shuttered, that Captain Arcoll began his tale.