that Umzilikazi's
grave came under both these qualifying adjectives.

Wherefore later, when the fire was roaring up brightly with red and
cheery glow, and the sable antelope steaks, hot and fizzing, had been
transferred from the frying-pan to the metal enamelled camp plates, he
must needs drag in the subject again.

Pemberton, the elder of the other two traders, whistled and shook his
heavy beard.

"It's a thing that won't bear meddling with," was his laconic dictum.

"Well, I should like to meddle with it to the extent of having a look at
it anyway," persisted Blachland. "Any one here ever seen it close, by
the way?"

"No, nor likely to," answered Young. "I saw it once, about a mile off;
near enough to get a good look at it through a glass. It's a tall
cleft, running right up the face of the boulder, and overhung by another
boulder like a porch. There's a tree in front too. I'd just time to
see so much when a lot of _majara_, spotting my binoculars, started for
me, yelling like blazes. I judged it wise to take a bee-line for
Bulawayo, and get under old Lo Ben's wing; but they ran me hard all the
way--got there nearly as soon as I did, and clamoured to be allowed to
kill me. Lo Ben wouldn't have that, but he hinted to me quietly that
the country wouldn't be healthy for a year or so, and I took the hint.
No, take my advice and leave it alone. Apart from the risk, there's no
luck meddling with such places--no, none."

"Oh, skittles about luck. It's the risk I take count of, and that only.
The fact is, Young, you old up-country men are as superstitious as
sailors," returned Blachland, with that strange, eager restlessness
which now and then, and generally unexpectedly, obtruded to give the lie
to his ordinarily calm and immobile demeanour. "I'll risk the
_majara_--luck doesn't count,--and sooner or later I'll explore
Umzilikazi's grave."

Sybrandt was conscious of what, in a less self-contained man, would have
been an obvious start at these words. A dark form had glided silently
in among them all. It was only one of their camp servants, but--a
native of the country. What if he had heard--had understood? He knew
some English too!

"Even if you got through the pickets of _majara_, Blachland," struck in
Sybrandt, when this man had retired; "you'd have another factor to
reckon with. The King's Snake."

"Eh?"

"The King's Snake."

Blachland spluttered. "See here, Sybrandt," he said. "Are you
ser