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likely to turn up here.”

      “I suppose not.”

      “Well, long live our trade together, anyhow. He’d give anything, by the way, for a good specimen of the indhlondhlo1, but they’ve become so jolly scarce, which is just as well. Anyhow, that’s a beast that isn’t affected by these cursed silly game laws. But it’s a sort of joker you don’t get a chance of killing except with a charge of buckshot, and that spoils the skin.”

      “Well, then, it’s better left alone. I’ve always heard they are the most fiendish brutes to tackle. It isn’t worth throwing away one’s life for the sake of a few pounds more or less.”

      “Few pounds more or less!” echoed Ben Halse. “Why where would I – where would we– have been if I had always run on that notion? Little girl, it’s for you that I want to screw out every penny I can, no matter how I do it. For you.”

      “Then knock off doing it, dear, especially in some directions. That won’t bring me any good, to put it on that ground. Now that deal with Undhlawafa is off, dead off? Isn’t it?”

      The last rather anxiously.

      “Well, I don’t know – yes, I suppose it is,” somewhat undecidedly.

      The girl shook her head.

      “Of course it is,” she returned. “It’s not to be thought of for a moment. We are not in dire need, remember, though even then such a thing would be out of the question. Yes, quite off. My instinct has been right before, remember.”

      “So it has. No, I shan’t touch this affair. They’ll have to get somebody else.”

      “Nkose! O’ Nongqai!” (The police.)

      Both started. The interruption came from the trader’s other boy, who had slipped into the yard in a state of some consternation.

      “Where, Panjani?” said his master.

      “Down yonder, Nkose,” pointing to the lower country. In a moment both were outside and in front of the dwelling.

      Far below, on the plain, which looked humpy from this altitude, two mounted figures were approaching. There was no need to get out a field-glass; the native eyesight, as well as their own, was keen enough. But the two arrivals could not arrive for the best part of an hour. Ben Halse went calmly back to the yard, and further directed the preparation of the great head, with its record horns. Then, rubbing a lot of salt and pepper into it, he covered it with a waggon sail. Verna, watching this proceeding, was struck with a sudden thought.

      “Father, what about the koodoo sirloin I’ve got on the roast?” she said.

      “Keep it there till it’s done. They won’t know it from beef. Howling joke, eh?”

      “Rather,” she laughed. “They’ll all unconsciously aid and abet us in breaking the laws of Cetywayo’s country.”

      The police horses were toiling up the slope, then standing with heaving flanks in front of the store. Their riders were not sorry to dismount.

      “Well, Mr Halse, how goes it?” cried Meyrick, shaking hands. “Miss Halse – why, you are looking better than ever since those two dances we had together at Ezulwini.”

      “Oh, thanks,” laughed Verna. “But that’s a poor compliment. You ought not to have allowed the possibility that I could look better than ever.”

      “Sharp as ever, anyhow,” retorted Meyrick. And his comrade broke into a guffaw.

      “This is Francis,” he introduced, “commonly known in the force as Frank. It’s shorter, you see, and means the same thing. Now we all know each other.”

      “Not got your step yet, sergeant?” said Ben Halse. “Thought you’d have been Sub-Inspector next time I met you.”

      “Don’t chaff, Mr Halse. It’s a sore point with me. The powers that be are so dashed ungrateful.”

      “Well, anyway, come inside and have a refresher after your ride. I’ll send my boy to off-saddle for you. Scoff will be ready directly.”

      “We kept it back on purpose when we saw you toiling up there beyond Lumisana,” said Verna. “If the sirloin is overdone it’s due to that.”

      “Sirloin! By Jove! that’s royal!” cried Meyrick. Whereat Verna laughed mischievously.

      Assuredly Ben Halse’s ménage kept up its reputation for hospitality, thought these two guardians of law and order, as they sat there doing full justice to the result of the midnight poaching expedition.

      “Why, this beef is A1,” pronounced Meyrick, beginning upon a second helping. “You couldn’t get anything like it even in Old England.”

      “I’m sure you couldn’t,” assented their host, with a touch of dryness, while Verna’s eyes danced. “The bottle’s at your right elbow – help yourself. What’s the latest from down country, by the way?”

      “All sorts of yarns. They are brewing up for a row in Natal. There’s a sweep called Babatyana inclined to make trouble. Now, Mr Halse, you ought to be an authority. If there’s a bust-up there do you think it’ll spread up here?”

      “Sure to. But, to what extent is another thing.”

      “How does feeling run in these parts? Sapazani, you know, doesn’t carry a particularly good reputation.”

      “Depends on how it’s handled. By the way, if I were you I wouldn’t name names,” for the boy had just come into the room to change the plates, and the swift look of interest that had flashed across his face as he caught the name of his chief was not lost on the experienced up-country man. “This boy here belongs to his tribe, and he’ll connect his chief’s name with the police uniform. See?”

      Meyrick felt small, and said so.

      “Did he hear? What an idiot I am. Well, Mr Halse, you were chaffing me about the Sub-Inspectorship, but it’s obvious I’m not ripe for it yet.”

      Ben Halse passed it off with a tactful and consolatory remark, and they talked about other things. Not until afterwards did it occur to Meyrick that his host had given him no information whatever on the subject of the loyalty of Sapazani.

      “He’s got some cheek, that same party whom we won’t name,” said Francis. “He flatly refused to salute his magistrate with the ‘Bayéte’ when he went to see him – hailed him as ‘Inkose’ instead; said the ‘Bayéte’ was the salute for kings.”

      “He’s about right,” said Ben Halse. “There’s a precious deal too much of that ‘Bayéte’ joke going along. Every waggon-builder’s apprentice seems to expect it. What did Downes say? I’d like to have been there.”

      “He nearly died of rage. Then he asked Sapazani, rather sneeringly, which king he would give the ‘Bayéte’ to, and the answer was, ‘Any king,’ which was rather smart. Downes talked of arresting him for treating his court with insolence, but there were only three of our chaps in the place, and Sapazani had a following with him big enough to have captured the whole show, even with kerries, so he chucked that plan.”

      “Well, he was wise there,” said Ben Halse. “There’s no law in existence here or anywhere else I know of, that compels a native to address his magistrate as ‘Your Majesty,’ which is what giving him the salute royal amounts to. And this particular chief – to name no names – is quite knowing enough to get hold of a lawyer to stick up for him. There’s more than one that would be glad to, and could do it too.”

      The fact was that the speaker knew all about this incident as well as did the narrator – and a good deal more connected with it which the latter didn’t, but this he kept to himself.

      “Sapazani is a great friend of ours,” said Verna; “but I should think he’d be quite capable of making himself disagreeable if he was rubbed the wrong way.”

      Then

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