amply proved upon that orchid-seeking expedition. Moreover he loved me
with a love passing the love of women. Now, having acquired some
money in a way I need not stop to describe--for is it not written
elsewhere?--he was settled as a kind of little chief on a farm not very
far from Durban, where he lived in great honour because of the fame of
his deeds.

The white man and Hans, if Hans it was, were engaged in violent
altercation whereof snatches floated to me on the breeze, spoken in the
Dutch tongue.

"You dirty little Hottentot!" shouted the white man, waving a stick,
"I'll cut the liver out of you. What do you mean by nosing about after
me like a jackal?" And he struck at Hans, who jumped aside.

"Son of a fat white sow," screamed Hans in answer (for the moment I
heard his voice I knew that it was Hans), "did you dare to call the Baas
a thief? Yes, a thief, O Rooter in the mud, O Feeder on filth and worms,
O Hog of the gutter--the Baas, the clipping of whose nail is worth
more than you and all your family, he whose honour is as clear as the
sunlight and whose heart is cleaner than the white sand of the sea."

"Yes, I did," roared the white man; "for he got my money in the gold
mine."

"Then, hog, why did you run away. Why did you not wait to tell him so
outside that house?"

"I'll teach you about running away, you little yellow dog," replied the
other, catching Hans a cut across the ribs.