“Ja, ja, we will shoot him.”

“Hernan Pereira,” said Retief, rubbing his broad forehead, “I don’t quite know why it is, but no one seems to want you as a companion.  Indeed, to speak truth, I don’t myself.  Still, I think you would be safer with me than with these others whom you seem to have offended.  Therefore, I suggest that you come on with us.  But listen here, man,” he added sternly, “if I find you plotting against us among the Zulus, that hour you are dead.  Do you understand?”

“I understand that I am one slandered,” replied Pereira.  “Still, it is Christian to submit to injuries, and therefore I will do as you wish.  As to these bearers of false witness, I leave them to God.”

“And I leave you to the devil,” shouted Vrouw Prinsloo, “who will certainly have you soon or late.  Get out of my sight, stinkcat, or I will pull your hair off.”  And she rushed at him, flapping her dreadful vatdoek—­which she produced from some recess in her raiment—­in his face, driving him away as though he were a noxious insect.

Well, he went I know not where, and so strong was public opinion against him that I do not think that even his uncle, Henri Marais, sought him out to console him.

When Pereira was gone, our party and that of Retief fell into talk, and we had much to tell.  Especially was the commandant interested in the story of my bet with Dingaan, whereby I saved the lives of all my companions by shooting the vultures.

“It was not for nothing, nephew, that God Almighty gave you the power of holding a gun so straight,” said Retief to me when he understood the matter.  “I remember that when you killed those wildfowl in the Groote Kloof with bullets, which no other man could have done, I wondered why you should have such a gift above all the rest of us, who have practised for so many more years.  Well, now I understand.  God Almighty is no fool; He knows His business.  I wish you were coming back with me to Dingaan; but as that tainted man, Hernan Pereira, is of my company, perhaps it is better that you should stay away.  Tell me, now, about this Dingaan; does he mean to kill us?”

“Not this time, I think, uncle,” I answered; “because first he wishes to learn all about the Boers.  Still, do not trust him too far just because he speaks you softly.  Remember, that if I had missed the third vulture, we should all have been dead by now.  And, if you are wise, keep an eye upon Hernan Pereira.”

“These things I will do, nephew, especially the last of them; and now we must be getting on.  Stay; come here, Henri Marais; I have a word to say to you.  I understand that this little Englishman, Allan Quatermain, who is worth ten bigger men, loves your daughter, whose life he has saved again and again, and that she loves him.  Why, then, do you not let them marry in a decent fashion?”

“Because before God I have sworn her to another man—­to my nephew, Hernan Pereira, whom everyone slanders,” answered Marais sulkily.  “Until she is of age that oath holds.”