Macumazahn, you who are a Watcher-by-Night, come and sit with me awhile in my hut, and we will talk of other things.

All this business of the stones is nothing more than a Kafir trick, is it, Macumazahn?
When you meet the buffalo with the split horn in the pool of a dried river, remember it is but a cheating trick, and now come into my hut and drink a kamba [bowl] of beer and let us talk of other things more interesting." So he took me into the hut, which was a fine one, very well lighted by a fire in its centre, and gave me Kafir beer to drink, that I swallowed gratefully, for my throat was dry and still felt as though it had been scraped.
"Who are you, Father ?" I asked point-blank when I had taken my seat upon a low stool, with my back resting against the wall of the hut, and lit my pipe.
He lifted his big head from the pile of karosses on which he was lying and peered at me across the fire.
"My name is Zikali, which means 'Weapons,' White Man.

You know as much as that, don't you ?" he answered.

"My father 'went down' so long ago that his does not matter.

I am a dwarf, very ugly, with some learning, as we of the Black House understand it, and very old.