"Captain Robertson," I said, "I wish to give you a hint to be passed on
to Mr. Thomaso, if that is he. He spoke of the Zulu soldier there as a
nigger, etc. Well, he is a chief of a high rank and rather a terrible
fellow if roused. Therefore I recommend Mr. Thomaso not to let him
understand that he is insulting him."

"Oh! that's the way of these 'snuff-and-butters' one of whose
grandmothers once met a white man," replied the Captain, laughing, "but
I'll tell him," and he did in Portuguese.

His retainer listened in silence, looking at Umslopogaas rather sulkily.
Then we walked into the house. As we went the Captain said,

"Señor Thomaso--he calls himself Señor--is my manager here and a clever
man, honest too in his way and attached to me, perhaps because I
saved his life once. But he has a nasty temper, as have all these
cross-breeds, so I hope he won't get wrong with that native who carries
a big axe."

"I hope so too, for his own sake," I replied emphatically.

The Captain led the way into the sitting-room; there was but one in the
house. It proved a queer kind of place with rude furniture seated with
strips of hide after the Boer fashion, and yet bearing a certain air of
refinement which was doubtless due to Inez, who, with the assistance
of a stout native girl, was already engaged in setting the table.
Thus there was a shelf with books, Shakespeare was one of these, I
noticed--over which hung an ivory crucifix, which suggested that Inez
was a Catholic. On the walls, too, were some good portraits, and on the