ather's chair.
At first I thought it must be a drunken Kaffir, then that my father had
fallen asleep there.

And so he had,--for he was dead!

CHAPTER II

THE FIRE-FIGHT

When I had buried my father, and seen a successor installed in his
place--for the station was the property of the Society--I set to work to
carry out a plan which I had long cherished, but been unable to execute
because it would have involved separation from my father. Put shortly,
it was to undertake a trading journey of exploration right through the
countries now known as the Free State and the Transvaal, and as much
further North as I could go. It was an adventurous scheme, for though
the emigrant Boers had begun to occupy positions in these territories,
they were still to all practical purposes unexplored. But I was now
alone in the world, and it mattered little what became of me; so, driven
on by the overmastering love of adventure, which, old as I am, will
perhaps still be the cause of my death, I determined to undertake the
journey.

Accordingly I sold such stock and goods as we had upon the station,
reserving only the two best waggons and two spans of oxen. The proceeds
I invested in such goods as were then in fashion, for trading purposes,
and in guns and ammunition. The guns would have moved any modern
explorer to merriment; but such as they were I managed to do a good deal
of execution with them. One of them was a single-barrelled, smooth
bore, fitted for percussion caps--a roer we called it--which threw a
three-ounce ball, and was charged with a handful of coarse black powder.
Many is the elephant that I killed with that roer, although it generally
knocked me backwards when I fired it, which I only did under compulsion.
The best of the lot, perhaps, was a double-barrelled No. 12 shot-gun,
but it had flint locks. Also there were some old tower muskets, which
might or might not throw straight at seventy yards. I took six Kaffirs
with me, and three good horses, which were supposed to be salted--that
is, proof against the sickness. Among the Kaffirs was an old fellow
named Indaba-zimbi, which, being translated, means "tongue of iron."
I suppose he got this name from his strident voice and exhaustless
eloquence. This man was a great character in his way. He had been a
noted witch-doctor among a neighbouring tribe, and came to the station
under the following circumstances, which, as he plays a considerable
part in this history, are per