A sore
sickness has fallen on the great herd, the royal herd, the white herd with
the twisted horns, and," here he paused to sob, "a thousand of them are
dead, and many more are sick. Soon there will be no herd left," and he
wept outright.
Now Dingaan leapt up in his wrath and struck the man so sharply with the
shaft of the spear he held that it broke upon his head.
"Fat fool that you are," he exclaimed. "What have you done to my cattle?
Speak, or you shall be slain for an evil-doer who has bewitched them."
"Is it a crime to be fat, O King," answered the indignant Movo, rubbing
his skull, "when others are so much fatter?" and he looked reproachfully
at Dingaan's enormous person. "Can I help it if a thousand of thy oxen are
now but hides for shields?"
"Will you answer, or will you taste the other end of the spear?" asked
Dingaan, grasping the broken shaft just above the blade. "What have you
done to my cattle?"
"O King, I have done nothing to them. Can I help it if those accursed
beasts choose to eat dead locusts instead of grass, and foam at the mouth
and choke? Can the cattle help it if all the grass has become locusts so
that there is nothing else for them to eat? I am not to blame, and the
cattle are not to blame.
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