think I have had about enough of it, though. Can you tell me of any boats running from Durban to India? I should like to see those wild sheep in Kashmir.” 

 I told him that I did not know for certain as I had never taken any interest in India, being an African elephant-hunter and trader, but I thought they did occasionally. Just then Robinson passed by and called to me— 

 “They’ll be here presently, Quatermain, but Sompseu isn’t coming himself.” 

 “Does your name happen to be Allan Quatermain?” asked the stranger. “If so I have heard plenty about you up in Lobengula’s country, and of your wonderful shooting.” 

 “Yes,” I replied, “but as for the shooting, natives always exaggerate.” 

 “They never exaggerated about mine,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Anyhow I am very glad to see you in the flesh, though in the spirit you rather bored me because I heard too much of you. Whenever I made a particularly bad miss, my gun-bearer, who at some time seems to have been yours, would say, ‘Ah! if only it had been the Inkosi Macumazahn, how different would have been the end!’ My name is Anscombe, Maurice Anscombe,” he added rather shyly. (Afterwards I discovered from a book of reference that he was a younger son of Lord Mountford, one of the richest peers in England.) 

 Then we both laughed and he said— 

 “Tell me, Mr. Quatermain, if you will, what those Boers are saying behind us. I am sure it is something unpleasant, but as the only Dutch I know is ‘Guten Tag’ and ‘Vootsack’ (Good-day and Get out) that takes me no forwarder.” 

 “It ought to,” I answered, “for the substance of their talk is that they object to be ‘vootsacked’ by the British Government as represented by Sir Theophilus Shepstone. They are declaring that they won the land ‘with their blood’ and want to keep their own flag flying over it.” 

 “A very natural sentiment,” broke in Anscombe. 

 “They say that they wish to shoot all damned Englishmen, especially Shepstone and his people, and that they would make a beginning now were they not afraid that the damned English Government, being angered, would send thousands of damned English rooibatjes, that is, red-coats, and shoot them out of evil revenge.” 

 “A very natural conclusion,” laughed Anscombe again, “which I should advise 

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