"What a neat shot!" exclaimed Hermia, an expression of mingled admiration and disgust upon her face as she bent down to examine the huge head. Was it a part of her scheme, or the genuine admiration of every woman for a feat of physical prowess, that caused her to turn to Blachland with almost a proud, certainly an approving look? If the former, it served its purpose; for Justin began to feel more jealous and sorer than ever. "_Nkose_!" Blachland turned. A native stood forth with uplifted hand, hailing him. He had seen this man among his servants, but did not choose to recognise him first. "Oh, it is you, Hlangulu?" he said, speaking in Sindabele; which tongue is a groundwork of Zulu overlaid with much Sechuana and Sesutu. "That is strange, for since you disappeared from our camp on the Matya'mhlope, on the morning that we went to see the King, I have not set eyes on you." "_Au_!" replied the man, with a half-smile, bringing his hand to his mouth in deprecatory gesture, "that is true, _Nkose_. But the Great Great One required me to stand among the ranks of the warriors. Now I am free once more, I would fain serve _Nkose_ again." Blachland looked musingly at him, but did not immediately reply. "I would fain serve a white man who can so easily slay a great thing like that," went on Hlangulu. "Take me, _Nkose_. You will not find me useless for hunting, and I know of that as to which _Nkose_ would like to know." Blachland did not start at these last words, which were spoken with meaning, but he would have if his nerves had not long since been schooled to great self-control. For, remembering the subject under discussion the last time he had seen this man, whom they had all suspected of eavesdropping,--being moreover, accustomed to native ways of talking "dark," he had no doubt whatever as to the meaning intended to be conveyed. "Sit still a while, Hlangulu," he said. "I am not sure I have not servants enough. Yet it may be that I can do with another for hunting purposes. I will think about it. Here!"--and he handed him a stick of tobacco. "You are my father, _Nkose_," replied the Matabele, holding forth his joined hands to receive it. Then he stepped back. "Who is he, and what does he want, Hilary?" said Hermia, who had hardly understood a word of this colloquy; and the same held good of Spence. "Oh, he's a chap we had at Bulawayo. Wants to be taken on here. I think I'll take him." "I don't much like the look of him," pursued Hermia, doubtfully. "I should hang him on sight, if I were the jury empanelled to try him," declared Spence. But for all the notice he took of them, Blachland might as well not have heard these remarks, for he busied himself giving directions to his "boys," relating to the preparation of the lion's skin, and a dozen other matters. Leaving him to this, the other two strolled back to the house.