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82     ABBOTT'S MONTHLY

A Pair of Kings—Continued from page 59)

never saw such dumbbell notions combined with pure grit and fighting ability. It made me feel sorry for poor old Mac. I'd never had much respect for present day kings, but being a sort of prime minister to a king, I found that a king's job is as easy as that of a cat chairman's at a dog convention. They sure earn their salary—if any.

Well, one of the first reforms the prime minister was going to agitate strong for, was flock of Fords. The scenery would have gone much better from the seat of a flivver. The fields were all nicely tilled, and manicuring a Zulu farm is some tough job; they used the same tools Cain and Abel threw away and, believe me or not, the ladies did it all—yes, sir. Boys herded the cattle, the real money of the Zulus. These folks, the men, anyway, considered farm work effeminate, so they stick to Men's work, hunting and fighting with some fishing. I got real interested, in spite of my legs. Plenty of possibilities here for a man with brains and bossiness. The land beyond the hick section was rolling plains with clumps of trees here and there like a great park. On every side were purple mountains, looking so near I felt I could touch them. Some of their tops were snow covered and shone pale gold and pink and lilac and blue in the winter sunlight. I didn't know snow could have so many pretty colors; it always showed a discouraging dirty gray in New York. We finished our walk just in time for dinner.

What with one thing or another spring met us in about a split second. Mac had me working with him twenty-four hours every day. My idea had been to collect as many diamonds as possible and pose around as real kings, a two-year vacation with plenty of fast service, then leave with our loot, the cries of the loving subjects bidding us a sad farewell. This picture looked good to me, but, Great grief! Mac took his job serious.

In the first place, he seemed most careless about mopping up the loose gold and diamonds that came his way. Of course, as king he got plenty, but he was so careless about 'em. He worried me. Mac had been so fond of money, and this stuff was just raw money, that the S.P.C.A. had jumped on him for hugging the eagle on a ten dollar piece too tight. How he drove those Zulus! A new stone Kraal for the king, and naturally anybody that was anybody, had to have a stone house. Then the roads were trimmed up and new ones laid. A dam was built across the stream from the entrance pass so that it could be used for irrigation and as a reservoir. I was proud of that job myself, because when we began it, it seemed about as impossible as damming the Pacific between Hong Kong and Seattle, Mac even managed peace and trade with the Masai and Swazi tribes, although when a Zulu and a Matabele met it was still good statesmanship to climb a tree until the carnage was over. Mac had all kinds of big ideas in mind. His handicap was time. Two or three centuries would have been blossoming time for him. That big buzzard Ngacoma grew restless now and then, but his backers were not powerful enough to cause much concern.

One day Mac said to me: "Our two years are up in three little months."

"Great Day! And me got about a pint of diamonds!"

We had come back from a lion hunt outside the Valley, and were camping for the night. I'd won those stones on bets. the Zulus took to betting like a college boy to a car. They'd bet on anything; the number of baboons in a maize field; the probable date of death of a relative—I lost Bandanas and one of those multi-colored jazz sweaters on this kind of bet, so I got sort of suspicious; the winner of a wrestling match. They were a sporty bunch, I'll say. And just three months more!

I smoked my pipe for a while, thinking what a pint of diamonds in the rough was worth, and how we'd get away. I turned to Mac, who was staring like a hungry lion with his yellow eyes.

"Boy, I've our get-away mapped out to a Baboon's business ability! Bring our diamonds with us on a hunt like this, but farther east! Then lose the others and strike out for Delagoa Bay. That is nearer than Cape Town and the way is more open to bribes—if required. The plan's perfect!" I cried all enthused.

Mac was silent so long, I started to say it over again, when he spoke.

"We cannot run away like thieves, John. Kings should not," he said real grave. "Besides I ordered this hunt to obtain a quiet talk without attracting attention. Listen carefully and give your opinions when I finish. Tomorrow begins the Feast of the First Fruits. Our dear friend Ngacoma has prepared a nice little surprise for us. I learned some of it from M'zimba, most of it from Myankaas. As you know, I've been sending gold and stones out to Chaka—as I promised. the Indunas (councillors) and some of the chiefs know this. Ngacoma will bring the charge tomorrow that I have sold the secret of this wealth to the British and mean to escape to their territory." Old Mac lit his pipe and gazed grimly at the misty forest below us. I waited for him to go on, both ears tuned in.

"The facts seem to be with him, I admit. He has a few of the chiefs with him and the rest are awaiting my explanation."

Hell's bells," I groaned; "and we can't give 'em the truth without proof, and our proof is somewhere in North America!" I cussed until the grass was ready to shrivel up. Mac nodded and went on:

"Then those women, except Myankaas—" here his voice softened—"have broadcast to the whole nation of the Black Lion that I will have nothing to do with them, which is a very grave charge in Zulu Land. They claim that I have been bewitched. That is an excuse for Ngacoma to revive the ancient deviltry of smelling out of witches. Among the several to be 'smelt out' are M'zimba, Myankaas—and yourself."

"What's this 'smelling out' stunt?" I asked.

"While all the people are assembled 



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at the feast, the witch doctors perform a gruesome dance, striking the supposed witches over the shoulders with a snake skin when he or she has been sensed or 'smelt out.' Then the soldiers promptly kill them."

Great Grief, said the woodchuck!" I moaned. "Here's where I 'go down to keep company among the ghosts,' but I'm sure going down hard. When the blamed witch doctors start getting gay with this child, I'm going to sling a mean forty-five at those blood thirsty wampus-cats."

"Remember," warned Mac, "this 'smelling out' is only to take place if Ngacoma's plot succeeds, so don't get excited and begin pumping lead without cause. I may upset Ngacoma's little party."

"Well, if things get too hot, we'll try to fight our way to the pass and escape. It nearly gives me heart disease to leave all the gold, but our diamonds will have to do."

I slept poorly, like a man doomed to die the next day by some brand new, awful way.

The sun was just over the mountains when we got back. I got busy at once. The young fellows who had worked and hunted with me these two years were good friends and none too fond of the witch doctors. I hinted carelessly that the old buzzards knew about it, and had picked about a dozen or so to smell out; this was confidential and not to be repeated, of course. The result was immediate. A whole herd started buying charms and what-nots at scandalous prices from the same hated witch doctors, but the most of 'em slicked up their pet assegais, which was just what I wanted. People were already moving toward the big plain north of the town where the festivities were to take place, so I had to hurry to finish my few odd jobs. The good old American method of spending money free and plenty for anything political sure brings results. One old sinner of a witch doctor agreed to anything on the promise of a pocket flash light. The main squeeze, a white haired old heathen, made of creaky bones and dried skin, fell flat for a pair of field glasses. For fear of double crossing and accidents I showed 'em the action of a Colt automatic on a couple of their valuable chickens. Yes, sir, I had a busy hour.

When I got out to the Feast grounds the impis were drilling and they looked splendid with their ostrich plume head dresses and will trained bodies. Twenty thousand big boys drilling like a two-legged machine. Mac sat in his chair on the King's Rock, a big, flat black stone rising the height of a man from the plain. Beside him sat Myankaas, and the two made one royal pair. Mac was in native costume for the first time. A broad band of beaten gold fitted around his royal head. a leopard skin kaross was thrown back from his shoulders on the chair. In his right hand he held the gold pointed spear of the Kings of the People of The Black Lion. Ah, he looked big, and somehow I felt he was as big as he looked. He motioned me to sit below him beside that good scout M'zimba, so I eased in quietly. I had barely been seated when the order was given the army to charge on the double straight at us. I went weak all over as I saw that sea of glittering spears and fierce eyes surging down on me. Ten paces away they halted as one man and crashed out the royal salute!

"Bayete!"

"Wow!" shouted the women and children. A wow, indeed!

My inside works got back into place as Mac rose slowly to address them all. I didn't pay much attention to the speech, for I was busy looking about me. All the big men were around me, Lopi, the best spear thrower in the land; M'zimba, the chief of the Buffaloes; that hyena, Ngacoma of the Grays; little, dried up Umbitzu, the cleverest induna of them all; jolly old Sawaanka, who still killed his lions single handed; and, of course, every scare-crow of a Witch Doctor in Zulu Land; a classy bunch, but just one man to count on if push came to pull, and I figured I'd need plenty of pull before the sun went down.

Then the war dance with its booming drums. How those drums got into me; while they were throbbing I'd have fought a herd of elephants with my bare hands. As we watched sweating fighters attack and kill, retreat and go "down" in the war dance play, a messenger, one of the pass guards and a sweet cross-country runner, cantered up to Mac, and after the salute handed what appeared to be a letter to him. That's what it was, for Mac tore open an envelope and quickly read a letter. I nearly strained my head loose trying to read Mac's face. Not a muscle on it flickered.

A real mean, lowdown thought struck me. Had Mac sold out to the Portuguese or the British? They were the only ones to write him. He placed it inside his belt pouch and not a glance at me. I shook my head gloomily. "I never met a jigwark yet that wouldn't sell out!" I mumbled bitter. Gloom held me so during the foot races and spear throwing, I forgot to bet. All through the wrestling matches I cussed a blue streak. When eating time came I wasn't hungry, but watching those sons and daughters of Africa put away food drove out my hard thoughts. The world's champion eaters were right here. I saw a ten-year-old boy put away near three pounds of meat, a dozen mealie cakes, plenty of fruit and a good two quarts of kaffir beer. He was a mild sample, too. This was just an entree for the big eats of the evening. No wonder indigestion was the curse of the country.

I strolled about among the happy folks and nearly run over Myankaas in deep conference with her devilish father, Ngacoma. She seemed to be instructing him about something, for he nodded his head a number of times. They were so intent they never noticed me. I didn't like that a-tall. When two of Africa's leading snakes, hating each other as they did, got their heads together, it looked bad to me. Myankaas had always treated me decent, if you can call toleration decent, but she butted into politics and government business too much to suit me. She needed suppressing bad. I went over to the King's Rock and pointed 'em out to Mac. He looked toward them carelessly.

"Just a daughter talking to her father. It is often done," Mac laughed.

Shucks, either Mac had a whale of a plan or he'd lost his pep and didn't give a damn. I felt discouraged. The folks were going back to their places now and the soldiers kept sweet order–with assegais. Old Skin and Bones, the head witch doctor, shambled past me and crept up