"I jes' tole the Kaffir, and had a quiet larf. To think of anyone bein' sich a simple ijiot as to play at sticks with a Kaffir. I tole the `boy,' and he said, `Yoh!' in surprise. Then a sort of smile flickered about his mouth, and his black eyes began to shine. He let slip the blanket offen his shoulders, and caught it on his left arm. Then he took his kerrie by the end, and held it out the full length of his arm, with his head forrard and his toes apart, and back so that he leant forward. You know the fighting kerrie, about five feet long, and tough as steel. "The sergeant--he smiled--threw forrard his right foot, balanced hisself on his left, crooked his elbow, and pointed his stick slanting. "`You see, boys,' he sed; `you must stand naturally, with your body nicely balanced, ready to advance or retreat. Look at me, and look at the Kaffir,' he said. `He stands on his toes, and if he lost his balance he would fall on his face. Watch me get over his guard.' "`Ready!' he sed, and they begun. "Well the boys watched, I tell you. There were a grunting, a clatter and a whirlwind of sticks--outer which whizzed chips of ash and bits of the basket-hilt. They didn't see nuffing of the sergeant's wrist-play, I tell you. No, sir, all they seed was that whirling of sticks like the spokes of a wheel, and bymby outer the dust come the sergeant. "He didn't look the same man. His face were red an' angry, his basket-hilt was all smashed in, his knuckles were raw, and there were no more'n but a foot left of his stick. "The Kaffir stood there, solum as a judge, with jes' a touch of fire in his eyes. There were not so much as a mark on his smooth skin, as he slipped the blanket over his shoulder, and waited for more. "The sergeant fished up sixpence, and gave it to the boy, without a word. "`You'd better go,' I sed. "`Yoh,' sed the Kaffir, looking at the sixpence; `is he done? Let him take another stick; we were but playing, and no one's head is broken.' "`You go,' I said; and he went, looking mighty troubled. "I tell you what, sonny; the Queen should take a thousand of these yer red Kaffirs, and make soldiers of 'em for service in a hot country. Not here, of course, but away off in Injia. It's a pity to waste 'em, and they'd do more good scouting than drinkin' Cape brandy, lifting cattle, and loafin' around. A black battalion of Kaffirs and Zulus would be no small pumpkins, an' they could be officered by Colonials who know the language." CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. A BUGLE CALL. "Hulloa, Bassie! I thought this fine morning would bring you over. The sap's running strong, and the quail are gathering thick in the young wheat. Hear to them whistling. Where's your gun?" "I did not come to shoot." "Soh! Well, you don't look like shooting. Been eating too much green fruit?" "I've passed the green fruit stage, Abe."