Now he felt equal to anything, to anybody. He
was once more the dominant animal, an armed man--nay, more--a well-armed
man.

"Ha!--now you are once more as you ought to be," cried Lindela,
gleefully clapping her hands together. "You who are stronger than--that
which is down there," falling into the Zulu custom of refraining
directly to mention that which is held in awe. "Without weapons. What
are you now with them? Great--great! To defeat the Spider--armed only
with the bones of men. _Whau!_ That was great indeed--magnificent!"

"Yet I think I will silence forever that horror," said Laurence,
stepping to the brink of the cliff and peering down into the awful
hollow. "Yes, there the beast is; I will risk a long shot," and he
sighted the carbine.

But in a moment Lindela's arms were around him, pinioning his to his
sides.

"Not so, beloved," she whispered earnestly. "Not so; the Black Ones who
wait on the Spider frequently come to look down into his haunt, even
when they do not bring offerings of men. If they find him slain they
will know you have escaped, and will pursue; for which reason it is
well--well, indeed, that you did not quite slay him with those
marvellous weapons, the bones of men. Further, they might hear the
sound of the fire-weapon, and know where to find us. Come, we have far
to travel."

This was unanswerable. Laurence stood for a few moments gazing down into
the fearsome place which held this shuddering mystery. Was it real? Was
he dreaming? Were those hours of terror and despair spent down there but
some gigantic nightmare? He passed his hand over his eyes--then looked
again. The thing was real. But now he could no longer see the horrid
shape--black and grisly. The creature must have withdrawn into its
ghastly den--to die. The wounds which he had inflicted upon it were
surely too deep, too strongly dealt, to be aught but mortal. The Spider
would no more drink the blood--feed on the flesh of men. Then he turned
to follow Lindela.

The latter had already loaded herself with the bundle of wraps and
provisions. To his suggestion that they should, at any rate, halve the
load, Lindela laughed in scorn.

"A man's work is to carry his weapons, and, when needed, use them," she
answered. "To bear loads--and this is a light one indeed--is woman's
work--not work for one who has proved too great even for the Spider."

Then, as they travelled down the mountain side in the fresh cool night
air, she told hi