'Lo! ye who doubted me, thus do I show my power. These other white gods
that came from afar, ye thought them stronger than I, yet have I caused
their utter destruction. But because of the little faith ye had in me,
and as a sign of my power and displeasure, have I also caused the
spirits that dwell in the black pool to take away the water that is
life to ye all!'

"Then I heard them moaning and begging for the water, and the voice of
the witch-doctor ordering them to lie flat on their faces and look not
up whilst he forced the spirits to bring back that which they had
taken. Then he called to me in my own tongue loudly: 'Ho! thou white
god! eat thou thy fill of the bright stones; of water thou shalt soon
drink plenty!' And I knew that he would soon move that rock whereby the
water could be diverted back to the pit. But even as he gibed at me,
leaning over the brink, dead Alvaro's ice-cold hand guided my petronel
till it covered the black fiend's body, and the iron ball struck full
and true below his throat. Down at my feet hurtled the body, and at the
report I could hear the dwarfs shriek and fly away from the spot in
fear.

"Not dead, but dying was he, for his magic was naught against the
weapons of the white man. Yet magic had he, and as he died so did he
curse me and cast over me a spell of terror: 'Thou shalt guard well thy
bright stones, oh, slayer of thy friend!' he shrieked. 'Water shalt
thou have, and yet shall never quench thine awful thirst; hunger shall
consume thee and thou shalt not eat; thou shalt long for death, yet
shalt thou not die!' And cursing thus he died; and his ghost joined the
band of weird watchers in the cavern of bright stones. . . .

"And the tribe of dwarfs one by one died of thirst, for it was a year
of fearful heat, and they knew of no other water. Day by day they came
shrieking and praying to the spirits of the black shaft to give them
back the water. Day by day they flung living men into the pit as
sacrifice to join the spirits below, till all, all were dead. Yet could
I not die! . . .

"Over their bleached bones the black water again runs. Below, guarded
by the dread watchers, lie the bright stones. Seek not the spot, ye
white men who speak the old tongue, lest ye too watch for ever; for the
place is accursed! . . ."

The strange narration ended as it began, not abruptly, but in
indistinct mutterings.

Half fascinated, Jason and I had followed every word of the strange
archai