gh he did not hear.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"One of high blood," answered Umbezi shortly. "He might be a chief
to-day had not his father been a plotter and a wizard. Dingaan smelt him
out"--and he made a sideways motion with his hand that among the Zulus
means much. "Yes, they were killed, almost every one; the chief, his
wives, his children and his headmen--every one except Chosa
his brother and his son Saduko, whom Zikali the dwarf, the
Smeller-out-of-evil-doers, the Ancient, who was old before Senzangakona
became a father of kings, hid him. There, that is an evil tale to talk
of," and he shivered. "Come, White Man, and doctor that old Cow of mine,
or she will give me no peace for months."

So I went to see the Worn-out-Old-Cow--not because I had any particular
interest in her, for, to tell the truth, she was a very disagreeable and
antique person, the cast-off wife of some chief whom at an unknown date
in the past the astute Umbezi had married from motives of policy--but
because I hoped to hear more of Miss Mameena, in whom I had become
interested.

Entering a large hut, I found the lady so impolitely named "the Old Cow"
in a parlous state. There she lay upon the floor, an unpleasant object
because of the blood that had escaped from her wound, surrounded by a
crowd of other women and of children. At regular intervals she announced
that she was dying, and emitted a fearful yell, whereupon all the
audience yelled also; in short, the place was a perfect pandemonium.

Telling Umbezi to get the hut cleared, I said that I would go to fetch
my medicines. Meanwhile I ordered my servant, Scowl, a humorous-looking
fellow, light yellow in hue, for he had a strong dash of Hottentot in
his composition, to cleanse the wound. When I returned from the wagon
ten minutes later the screams were more terrible than before, although
the chorus now stood without the hut. Nor was this altogether wonderful,
for on entering the place I found Scowl trimming up "the Old Cow's" ear
with a pair of blunt nail-scissors.

"O Macumazana," said Umbezi in a hoarse whisper, "might it not perhaps
be as well to leave her alone? If she bled to death, at any rate she
would be quieter."

"Are you a man or a hyena?" I answered sternly, and set about the job,
Scowl holding the poor woman's head between his knees.

It was over at length; a simple operation in which I exhibited--I
believe that is the medical term--a strong solution of caustic applied
w