It consisted in staring at the eastern sky, which was perfectly clear of cloud, and every now and again beckoning at it with his finger, then turning round to point with the assegai towards his rival.

For a while I looked at him in silence.

He was a curious wizened man, apparently over fifty years of age, with thin hands that looked as tough as wire.

His nose was much sharper than is usual among these races, and he had a queer habit of holding his head sideways like a bird when he spoke, which, in addition to the humour that lurked in his eye, gave him a most comical appearance.

Another strange thing about him was that he had a single white lock of hair among his black wool.