etse fly, except, of course, the wild game. It was our last
night at Durban, a very beautiful night of full moon at the end of
March, for the Portugee Delgado had announced his intention of sailing
on the following afternoon. Stephen Somers and I were seated on the
stoep smoking and talking things over.

"It is a strange thing," I said, "that Brother John should never have
turned up. I know that he was set upon making this expedition, not only
for the sake of the orchid, but also for some other reason of which he
would not speak. I think that the old fellow must be dead."

"Very likely," answered Stephen (we had become intimate and I called him
Stephen now), "a man alone among savages might easily come to grief
and never be heard of again. Hark! What's that?" and he pointed to some
gardenia bushes in the shadow of the house near by, whence came a sound
of something that moved.

"A dog, I expect, or perhaps it is Hans. He curls up in all sorts of
places near to where I may be. Hans, are you there?"

A figure arose from the gardenia bushes.

"_Ja_, I am here, Baas."

"What are you doing, Hans?"

"I am doing what the dog does, Baas--watching my master."

"Good," I answered. Then an idea struck me. "Hans, you have heard of the
white Baas with the long beard whom the Kaffirs call Dogeetah?"

"I have heard of him and once I saw him, a few moons ago passing
through Pinetown. A Kaffir with him told me that he was going over the
Drakensberg to hunt for things that crawl and fly, being quite mad,
Baas."

"Well, where is he now, Hans? He should have been here to travel with
us."

"Am I a spirit that I can tell the Baas whither a white man has
wandered. Yet, stay. Mavovo may be able to tell. He is a great doctor,
he can see through distance, and even now, this very night his Snake
of divination has entered into him and he is looking into the future,
yonder, behind the house. I saw him form the circle."

I translated what Hans said to Stephen, for he had been talking in
Dutch, then asked him if he would like to see some Kaffir magic.

"Of course," he answered, "but it's all bosh, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, all bosh, or so most people say," I answered evasively.
"Still, sometimes these _Inyangas_ tell one strange things."

Then, led by Hans, we crept round the house to where there was a
five-foot stone wall at the back of the stable. Beyond this wall, within
the circle of some huts where my Kaffirs lived, was an open spa