Part 7

If the elephant did not die at once, the Pygmies knew that some of the poison would finally work inside the animal’s body and kill him. They would follow him until he dropped. Usually, he assured them, they did not have long to wait.

Nomusa was still full of curiosity. “Do the boys take care of the cattle as my brothers do?”

The Pygmy looked surprised. “We have no cattle,” he said. “We live by hunting.”

“How long have you been living here?”

“Two moons. Soon we leave. More fruit, berries, tortoises, and monkeys in new place.”

Nomusa suddenly remembered Dube. “You like monkeys?” she asked hopefully.

“Ay, very good to eat!”

It was time to go. Many of the small people came to look at the visitors curiously. Nomusa noticed that, like the men, the women wore no ornaments, beads, or bracelets.

Nomusa had a final question for the Pygmy. “How many wives do Pygmy men have?”

He looked shocked, then amused. “How many? One, of course.”

Now Nomusa really felt sorry for these people. She realized how very poor the Pygmies were, for among the Zulus it was only a poor man who had but one wife.

Their guide was ready to take them back to their camp. The Pygmies waved a friendly farewell to their visitors. One woman gave Nomusa a present—a huge dried beetle, the largest Nomusa had ever seen.

With no load to carry, the Pygmy guide sped through the forest so quickly that Nomusa and Sikhulumi had to run to keep up with him. He no longer bothered to look back to see if they were following. Perhaps he thought that anyone who had been over the ground once would surely know it again.

It was close to sundown, and when the long purple shadows of the trees fell across the ground, it became increasingly difficult to see the Pygmy.

At last what they feared had happened. Sikhulumi stopped, completely confused. Nomusa needed no word from him to tell her they were lost. The Pygmy was nowhere to be seen, and they did not know which path to take. Sihkulumi looked very anxious. Then they heard a whistle.

“It is he!” cried Nomusa. “But where?”

Where, indeed? Sihkulumi looked all about him. Then the whistle sounded again, and Sihkulumi’s dark face broke into a grin. He raised his eyes to the high branches of a tree. There was the Pygmy, his small body barely discernible among the green leaves.

Down he scampered, agile as a monkey. In his hand was a big piece of honeycomb, some of which he gave to Nomusa and Sihkulumi. They walked along more slowly now, and together, eating the delicious honey. But Nomusa kept a watchful eye on the Pygmy. Perhaps he might decide to play another joke on them.

But they soon reached the others, without any difficulty. The Pygmies were still smoking elephant meat, but the Zulu hunters had finished their work. They squatted about the huge fire, resting and eating. Nomusa and Sihkulumi were glad to dip their fingers into the food pot, too.

As they ate and rested, Zitu spoke.

“We can be thankful that we have had a safe and successful hunt. Tomorrow at sunrise we set out for our kraals. Let everyone remember to take care along the way so that we shall have no mishap.”

Growing drowsy by the fire, Nomusa thought of all the wonderful stories she had to tell Themba. And Mdingi would be sure to make good songs about many of the things Nomusa would tell him. Yo! She was every bit as eager to get home as she had been to leave!

Everyone was getting ready to sleep, and a sentinel had been appointed. Nomusa looked over at the Pygmies to see what they were doing. The night had grown chilly, and the little men were beating their bodies with their hands and huddling close to the fire. Nomusa saw some Pygmies crawl inside the elephant. She expected them to come right out again. But they did not, and after a bit Nomusa went over to see why they stayed so long.

Inside the elephant the Pygmies lay, one next to the other, fast asleep.

SEVENTEEN: The Leopard in the Pit

On the homeward trip Nomusa kept watching for interesting birds and animals. She could never have too many stories to tell Themba and Umpondo and the other little brothers and sisters.

When they were about a day’s journey from the kraals, the party rested on a flat-topped hill. Looking down on the valley, Nomusa beheld a wonderful sight. A number of lions, lionesses, and cubs lay among the tall grasses. The older animals seemed to be drowsing in the sun, but the cubs refused to stay quiet. Like kittens they played together, tumbling about, nipping each other’s ears and tails.

How gentle they looked, Nomusa thought, even harmless. But she was glad to know they were far below her and the other hunters.

A small antelope appeared, a short distance away, the lions ignored it; this was not the time for hunting. But the lionesses growled, and their tails began to switch. The cubs looked at the antelope, and back at their mothers. The lionesses rushed forward with low growls, encouraging their frolicking cubs to come along.

“Look!” said Damasi, who sat watching beside Nomusa. “I think the lionesses are going to use the little antelope to teach the cubs how to hunt!”

A lioness kept the antelope at bay, while the cubs worried it. Sometimes the mother let the antelope run away, in order to see if the cubs could catch it by themselves. When they could not, she ran it down herself and pinned it to the ground; then she left the animal to the cubs.

One cub did not know what to do and ran wildly about the antelope, nipping its tail playfully. The mother rushed at her cub and smacked him with her paw as if to tell him to behave like a lion and not like a baby.

Nomusa would like to have watched more, but again the Zulus were on the march. They were in a hurry to get home, and they rested only briefly.

In the distance they could see the rolling hills on which the kraals were situated. Nomusa was glad that this was so, for she was very tired. How good it would be to lie on her mat and sleep and sleep!

She was not keeping up with the others very well, but no one seemed to pay any attention. Ahead of her she could see Damasi walking with Zabala. They were having a good time laughing and talking together, and Nomusa thought crossly that Damasi seemed to have forgotten she was with them. He did not even look back to see where she was.

As she moved wearily along, Nomusa kept on thinking of the joy of returning. How glad she would be to see her mother and the baby sister! How she would hug her chubby little brother! And Mdingi and funny Kangata—

Nomusa’s busy thoughts made her forget her weariness, but they made her less cautious, too. If she had been intent on where she was walking, she would have been suspicious of the place in the trail where some branches had fallen and the grasses were oddly disturbed. She would have gone around it as the others had.

But Nomusa’s thoughts were far away, and the next thing she knew she lay at the bottom of a pit, on top of the body of a small leopard. It was dead, with an arrow in its neck. Her first feeling was that she was thankful the leopard was dead. But soon she realized that she could not get out of the pit without help. In a frenzy she began shouting for someone to come and help her. How long must she stay here? Would she ever get out? The hunters might even reach the kraals before they knew she was missing.

Nomusa was brave, but it was dark and hot in the pit, and she was very tired. The minutes crawled by, and she began to feel less and less a fearless hunter and more and more a frightened ten-year-old girl.

Maybe she would never see her mother and her brothers and sisters again. Maybe they would never find her and never know what had happened to her. Tears welled up in Nomusa’s eyes in spite of herself. Again she called, this time somewhat feebly. Thirst consumed her, and her body felt unbearably hot and sticky. Why, oh why, had she ever wanted to be a hunter? If only she had stayed at home this would never have happened to her.

She tried several times to make toeholds in the sheer sides of the pit, but the soft earth crumbled away. By now she didn’t even know what time of day it was. It seemed ages since she had fallen into the pit. She shuddered fearfully at the thought of being there all night. A live animal might fall in, too; Nomusa’s vivid imagination pictured all sorts of dreadful encounters with snarling, clawing lions and leopards.

Again she called out in desperation. And, miracle of miracles! she heard an answering cry. She was sure it was Damasi’s voice. “Nomusa! Where are you?”

“Here!” she shrieked. “In the pit! Be careful!”

The leaves and branches were parted, and there was Damasi looking down at her. Zabala was beside him.

“Yo! What a scare you gave us!” Zabala cried.

“Are you all right?” Damasi asked anxiously.

“Yes,” said Nomusa, weakly. “But how frightened I have been!” she confessed.

“Who would not have been frightened?” Damasi answered, looking awesomely at the pit.

“How shall we get her out?” asked Zabala, practically.

Damasi considered. For once, Nomusa had no ideas. She was content to wait to be rescued.

“We must get strong vines and weave them together,” Damasi decided. “Then Nomusa can attach them to herself and we can pull her out.

“You will need more than one,” Nomusa said. “I have something here that I must bring up.”

“What is that?” Zabala inquired.

“You shall see,” Nomusa said mysteriously.

Before long Damasi threw down two lengths of woven vines. Nomusa tested them and found them strong. One she bound securely about the leopard; the other she knotted under her arms. “Ready!” she called.

Zabala and Damasi braced themselves firmly and pulled with all their might. Nomusa held on tightly and dug her toes into the sides of the pit. Right now she wished they were long like the Pygmy’s!

At last she was over the top of the pit and lay on the ground breathing hard. Damasi and Zabala looked at her with concern, touching her to be sure she was all right.

“Now the other,” Nomusa said, finally, still panting.

This time the pull was easier, for there were three of them. Nomusa could not wait to see their faces when the leopard appeared.

“_Hau!_” the boys cried at the same time. “A leopard!”

They were still exclaiming over the handsome beast when Zitu and Sihkulumi and another hunter came running up. How relieved her father was to see Nomusa!

When he heard what had happened, Zitu looked at Zabala and Damasi proudly.

“You have done well,” the chief said. “No man could have done better.”

Nomusa looked timidly at her father. “I am sorry, my father. My carelessness has caused you much trouble.”

Zitu nodded. “Some of the fault was yours,” he agreed. “But I am to blame, too. In my eagerness to return home I did not look for you as I should have. Come,” Zitu added gently. “We shall stop for the night when we reach the others. It is too late to go on.”

He directed the men to tie the leopard’s legs to their spears and carry him back to the camp.

“The beast is yours,” her father said to Nomusa. “You may do what you want with him.”

Nomusa’s heart was so full of joy and relief that she forgot her weariness. How wonderful to be free to walk again! And her father was not angry with her. Surely no girl ever had so much to be thankful for.

EIGHTEEN: The Song Of Mdingi

As the hunters approached the kraal, those who had remained behind rushed out to meet them. The four huge ivory tusks were exclaimed over and admired.

“These are the finest tusks I have ever seen,” said an old man, touching them with his hand. “They will be worth much in exchange.”

Nomusa ran forward to greet her mother and to hug Themba joyously and dance him up and down.

“What stories I have to tell you, Themba! And here is a present for you,” Nomusa added, putting the large beetle the Pygmy woman had given her into his fat little hands.

Sisiwe squeezed through the crowds, carrying Dube on her shoulder. The little monkey looked frightened at the crowds of people and the noise. Had he forgotten her, Nomusa wondered? She greeted Sisiwe affectionately and then spoke to Dube.

At the sound of her voice, Dube was all aquiver. When he saw her he strained forward. With one leap he was in Nomusa’s arms, chattering “Tchirk? Tchirk?” as if to ask her why she had stayed away so long.

“He still loves you best,” Sisiwe said, a little sadly.

“But you may play with him as often as you want,” Nomusa said. “I shall not forget what good care you have taken of him, my sister.”

Nomusa soon realized that she was indeed at home, for she heard her mother calling from their hut. “Nomusa! Fetch water!”

As she walked to the stream she was followed by a crowd of girls, all suddenly having to fetch water for their mothers. Nomusa was kept busy answering dozens of questions. The girls were especially interested in hearing about the Pygmies, and they laughed uproariously when Nomusa told about the Pygmy who had asked her if she was married.

It took much longer than usual to fetch water on this exciting day. By the time they returned, everyone was busy preparing for the evening feast in celebration of the successful hunt and the safe return of the hunters.

A huge stack of brushwood was being piled up outside the kraal to make a fire. Over this fire a bullock would be roasted, together with mealie cobs. Soon Nomusa’s brothers began returning from the pasture with their mothers’ cows. They had to return earlier today to help with the preparations for the evening.

Nomusa rushed to greet her brothers. “Oh, Mdingi, Kangata, how much I have to tell you! Put the cows in the cattlefold and hurry back!”

Soon her brothers sat beside Nomusa while she told about the snake that had swallowed the spotted deer, the fascinating Pygmies, the lions she had seen, and finally of her adventure in the pit. Her brothers listened, spellbound.

“Think if the leopard had been alive!” Kangata said, frightened at the very thought.

Nomusa smiled at him. “Here is a present for you, Kangata,” she said. “The Pygmy told me this elephant-hair necklace would bring the wearer good luck.”

Kangata put on the necklace, marveling at Nomusa’s generosity. Mdingi rose.

“Your stories are exciting, my sister,” he said. “I want to hear more soon. But now I must milk our mother’s cows.”

“Wait—come with me to the hut first,” Nomusa said. “I have something for you, too.”

When they got to the hut, Nomusa picked up the leopard skin, which she had asked Sihkulumi to remove carefully for her. She handed it to Mdingi.

The skin was a very beautiful one, and Mdingi was speechless with happiness.

“It is too much,” he managed to say, finally.

“I am happy to give it to you,” Nomusa answered softly. She was very glad it pleased him so much, because she knew how sad he had felt about not going on the elephant hunt.

Mdingi continued to gaze at his treasure and feel it with his fingers.

“I have another present for you,” Nomusa added. “It is a different kind of present, but maybe you can use it.” She told him the story of the wounded elephant that had attacked Sihkulumi and of their father’s courage and daring.

“If I could make songs, like you,” Nomusa said to her brother, “I should make a great song about this.”

Mdingi’s face had a kind of shining look that Nomusa had seen before. She thought he was seeing in his mind the heroic scene Nomusa had described to him, and the words of a song were already clamoring to be spoken.

Mdingi turned to go, clutching the leopard skin to him. “Thank you, Nomusa!” he said. “Thank you, thank you!”

The African moon shone big and full and yellow. The outlines of trees were dark against the sky, and the leaping flames of the fire danced higher and higher.

The people had eaten and drunk all they could hold, and now they sat in a great circle around the fire, listening as different singers chanted stories about the great Zulu hunters and warriors. Most of the stories had been told over and over, but the people always wanted to hear them again.

Only Nomusa was not surprised when Mdingi stood up and walked out into the open space. Facing his people, he began to sing in a clear strong voice:

“_High in the hills roams the mighty elephant, lord of the forest; The trees quiver as he passes, and the earth trembles under his terrible feet._”

His father looked astonished as Mdingi went on, telling of the preparations for the elephant hunt, the great care the chief took for the safety of his men. A teller of tales was greatly to be admired, and Zitu had not realized that his son possessed such talents.

All the people listened eagerly, and Nomusa’s heart swelled with pride in her brother. How thrilling it was to hear the story told so eloquently! Everyone was tense with excitement as Mdingi sang of Sihkulumi,

“_the hunter with eyes like an eagle,_”

who had first seen the wounded elephant in the gathering dusk. Knowing no fear, the hunter had leaped forward. But the vengeful elephant had only feigned death, and attacked the hunter.

Then came the heroic climax, and Mdingi did it full justice in his song. When he finished, the people cheered the singer loudly. They shouted, “_Hau! Hau!_” for their brave and kind leader. Yo! It was a day long to be remembered.

Mdingi stood beside Zitu, and his father’s hand rested on the boy’s shoulder affectionately. Zitu beckoned to Nomusa.

“Come, my little hunter!” he said. “I think perhaps it was you who brought such good luck to all of us!”

Nomusa’s face flushed with pride and embarrassment as she listened to her father’s praise. She was glad when she could slip back among the others.

Now Damasi stood beside her, smiling. “Is this not a wonderful celebration?” he asked.

Nomusa agreed it was indeed.

“I see Mdingi is wearing a new leopard skin,” Damasi went on, softly. “And Kangata has a necklace of elephant hair. Did you keep anything for yourself?”

Nomusa shook her head. “I do not need anything. After all, I had the hunt.”

“Perhaps you will find new trophies on next year’s hunt,” suggested Damasi.

“Oh, I shall not go next year!” Nomusa said. “Next year Mdingi will go.”

Damasi looked at her keenly. “Perhaps that is best,” he admitted. “But I don’t think Mdingi will bring back a greater story, no matter how many hunts he goes on.”

“Oh, it _was_ wonderful!” Nomusa cried. “It is true that nothing could be more exciting than that elephant hunt.”

The fire was dying down, but its flames still illumined Nomusa’s small, dark, eager face. Damasi looked at her in silence. He was thinking that life would always be interesting and exciting to Nomusa.

_This book was set in 14 point Baskerville type on the Fotosetter at Advance Lithographing Company, Chicago. It was lithographed on a Warren’s Olde Style Antique Wove sheet at Advance Lithographing Company, and bound in Bancroft Leaf Rust Natural Finish cloth at John F. Cuneo Company, Chicago._

DESIGNED BY STANFORD W. WILLIAMSON

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.