CHAPTER III. 



ELAND. 



"Who's that come, Unfusi ?" I asked, sitting lazily, 

 sketching Kaffirs' heads, under the shade of an umganu 

 tree, on a hot summer afternoon in 1868. 



"It's Umfana Wezulu," replied the boy addressed. 



" Has he killed anything ?" 



" Yes, he 's got a tail in his belt ; I think it's an eland." 



" Call him here then," I ordered, anxious to hear about 

 it, for eland were scarce, even in those days, in the dis- 

 trict between the Black and White Umfolosi rivers where 

 I was hunting ; and when he came I asked him where he 

 had killed it, and how many he had seen. The spot he 

 mentioned was a mountain, called, as is the case with so 



