flowed a
green light like that in a cat's eye.

"Shall we shoot, Imbozwi?" asked the voice of the captain of the
archers.

"Not yet, not yet. Not till the people can watch them die."

The edge of cloud lifted a little more; the green light turned to a
fiery red thrown by the sunk sun and reflected back upon the earth from
the dense black cloud above. It was as though all the landscape had
burst into flames, while the heaven over us remained of the hue of ink.
Again the lightning flashed, showing the faces and staring eyes of the
thousands who watched, and even the white teeth of a great bat that
flittered past. That flash seemed to burn off an edge of the lowering
cloud and the light grew stronger and stronger, and redder and redder.

Imbozwi uttered a hiss like a snake. I heard a bow-string twang, and
almost at the same moment the thud of an arrow striking my post just
above my head. Indeed, by lifting myself I could touch it. I shut my
eyes and began to see all sorts of queer things that I had forgotten
for years and years. My brain swam and seemed to melt into a kind of
confusion. Through the intense silence I thought I heard the sound of
some animal running heavily, much as a fat bull eland does when it is
suddenly disturbed. Someone uttered a startled exclamation, which caused
me to open my eyes again. The first thing I saw was the squad of savage
archers lifting their bows--evidently that first arrow had been a kind
of trial shot. The next, looking absolutely unearthly in that terrible
and ominous light, was a tall figure seated on a white ox shambling
rapidly towards us along the open roadway that ran from the southern
gate of the market-place.

Of course, I knew that I dreamed, for this figure exactly resembled
Brother John. There was his long, snowy beard. There in his hand was his
butterfly net, with the handle of which he seemed to be prodding the ox.
Only he was wound about with wreaths of flowers as were the great horns
of the ox, and on either side of him and before and behind him ran
girls, also wreathed with flowers. It was a vision, nothing else, and I
shut my eyes again awaiting the fatal arrow.

"Shoot!" screamed Imbozwi.

"Nay, shoot not!" shouted Babemba. "_Dogeetah is come!_"

A moment's pause, during which I heard arrows falling to the ground;
then from all those thousands of throats a roar that shaped itself to
the words:

"Dogeetah! Dogeetah is come to save the white lords."

I must