By this time I was half through the bee-hole of the hut, my movements
being hastened by a vessel of hot water which landed on me behind.

"What is the matter, Macumazahn?" asked old Umbezi, who was waiting
outside.

"Nothing at all, friend," I answered with a sweet smile, "except that
your wife wants to see you at once. She is in pain, and wishes you to
soothe her. Go in; do not hesitate."

After a moment's pause he went in--that is, half of him went in. Then
came a fearful crash, and he emerged again with the rim of a pot about
his neck and his countenance veiled in a coating of what I took to be
honey.

"Where is Mameena?" I asked him as he sat up spluttering.

"Where I wish I was," he answered in a thick voice; "at a kraal five
hours' journey away."

Well, that was the first I heard of Mameena.

That night as I sat smoking my pipe under the flap lean-to attached to
the wagon, laughing to myself over the adventure of "the Old Cow,"
falsely described as "worn out," and wondering whether Umbezi had got
the honey out of his hair, the canvas was lifted, and a Kafir wrapped in
a kaross crept in and squatted before me.

"Who are you?" I asked, for it was too dark to see the man's face.