Ventvoegel I had known before; he was one of the most perfect "spoorers," that is, game trackers, I ever had to do with, and tough as whipcord.

He never seemed to tire.

But he had one failing, so common with his race, drink.

Put him within reach of a bottle of gin and you could not trust him.
However, as we were going beyond the region of grog-shops this little weakness of his did not so much matter.
Having secured these two men I looked in vain for a third to suit my purpose, so we determined to start without one, trusting to luck to find a suitable man on our way up country.

But, as it happened, on the evening before the day we had fixed for our departure the Zulu Khiva informed me that a Kafir was waiting to see me.