Which apparently commonplace remark conveyed to these experienced listeners, three distinct meanings--first, that their position was exceedingly dangerous; secondly, that Lo Bengula was aware that even his authority might be insufficient to protect them from the fanatical hate of his warriors, but did not choose to say so in so many words; and lastly, the tone in which it was uttered conveyed a royal command. But to the recipients of the latter, it was exceedingly distasteful. An order of a more startling nature was, however, to follow. "You, Isipau," addressing Blachland. "Turn your waggon wheels homeward, before the going down of the sun." "Isipau," signifying "mushroom," was Blachland's native name, and as such he had been known among the natives on his first arrival in the country, years before, owing to his inordinate partiality for that delectable vegetable wherever it could be obtained. "When white people come into my country I welcome them as my friends," went on the King. "When I give them leave to hunt and to trade, it is well. It is not well when they seek to look into things for which I have given them no permission. Now I have given an order, and I give not my orders twice. Fare ye well. _Hambani-gahle_." And without another word, Lo Bengula rose from his seat, and stalked within the stockade. Blachland was the first to speak. "Damn!" he ejaculated. "Be careful, man, for Heaven's sake," warned Sybrandt. "If they got wind you were cursing the King, then--good-night!" Then, turning to the old induna, who had quelled the outcry against them, "Who has poisoned the heart of the Great Great One against us, Faku? Have we not always been his friends, and even now we have done no wrong." The old induna shrugged his shoulders, as he answered-- "Who am I that I should pry into the King's mind, Klistiaan? But his `word' has been spoken in no uncertain voice," he added significantly. This there was no denying, and they took their leave. As they passed out of the kraal, the lines of warriors glowered at them like wolves, for though the conversation had been inaudible to them, they divined that these whites had incurred the King's displeasure. "You've got us into a pretty kettle of fish, Blachland," said Young, rather curtly, as they rode in the direction of their camp. "Don't see it," was the reply. "Now, my belief is, Lo Ben is shirty about our gold-prospecting. My scheme had nothing to do with it." "Blachland's right, Young," cut in Pemberton. "If it had been the other thing, we wouldn't have got off so cheaply. Eh, Sybrandt?" "Rather not. We may thank our stars it wasn't the other. That rip Hlangulu must have been strung upon us as a spy. The old man is dead off any gold-prospecting. Afraid it'll bring a swarm of whites into the country, and he's right. Why, what's this?"