"Bewitch it, I suppose you mean, Untuswa? Have no fear. There is no
_tagati_ about me--not a grain."

Handling this splendid specimen of an assegai, poising it, noting its
perfect and graceful make, its strength and temper, I was inclined to
quadruple my original offer, but that I felt confident that the old man
was in dead earnest as to his statement that untold gold would not
induce him to part with this weapon. But here, I thought, is the direct
antithesis of the Needy Knife-Grinder. This man _has_ a story to tell,
if only he can be induced to tell it.

The hour was propitious--the still, deliciously lazy time of the mid-day
outspan. From our position on the Entonjaneni heights we commanded a
fair expanse of the crag-crowned hills and rolling plains of Central
Zululand. Beneath lay the wide bush-clad valley of the White Umfolosi--
the river winding in a snaky band. Beyond, the Mahlabatini Plain--now
silent and deserted--and there six great wizard-circles in the grass
alone showed where had stood, a year or so back, just that number of
huge kraals, the principal of which was Ulundi.

The unwilling dealer in prize assegais was a tall, thin old man, whose
age it would have been impossible to guess were it not that by his own
showing he must have been at least as old as the century--which would
have given him fourscore. Though lean and shrunken, he showed evidences
of the former possession of great muscular power, and even now was as
straight as a telegraph-pole, and carried his ringed head slightly
thrown back, as became a man who was somebody. He had come to the
waggon, in company with other Zulus, to exchange civilities according to
custom, but had lingered on after the departure of the rest. Then I fed
him, and gave him much snuff, and strove to tempt him to sell the weapon
which had taken my fancy.

"It is a fine spear," I said, returning it to its owner; "but there are
many such in Zululand, and of gold pieces there are not many. Why do
you value it so?"

"_Au_! Value it?" Then, with a glance at my native boys who were
snoring under the waggon, he said, in a lowered voice, and stretching
forth his hand in emphasis:

"It was the spear of the King."

"Of the King? Of Cetywayo?"

"_Qa-bo_! Not so!" he answered with a shake of the head. Then, after a
few moments spent in snuff-taking and silence, he went on:

"Listen, _Nkose_; I have fought for another king than him whom you
English have