"Why did you not tell me of these matters when we were at Beza-Town and
I could have talked with her myself, Hans?"

"For two reasons, Baas. The first was that I feared, if I told you,
you would wish to go on to find these people, whereas I was tired of
travelling and wanted to come to Natal to rest. The second was that
on the night when the old woman finished telling me her story, she was
taken sick and died, and therefore it would have been no use to bring
you to see her. So I saved it up in my head until it was wanted.
Moreover, Baas, all the Mazitu declared that old woman to be the
greatest of liars."

"She was not altogether a liar, Hans. Hear what I have learned," and I
told him of the magic of Harût and Marût and of the picture that I had
seemed to see of the elephant Jana and of the prayer that Harût and
Marût had made to me, to all of which he listened quite stolidly. It is
not easy to astonish a Hottentot's brain, which often draws no accurate
dividing-line between the possible and what the modern world holds to be
impossible.

"Yes, Baas," he said when I had finished, "then it seems that the old
woman was not such a liar after all. Baas, when shall we start after
that hoard of dead ivory, and which way will you go? By Kilwa or through
Zululand? It should be settled soon because of the seasons."

After this we talked together for a long while, for with pockets as
empty as mine were then, the problem seemed difficult, if not insoluble.