likely to set in for the myrmidons of the abstraction.

These, with the astuteness of their craft all the world over, saw their
time. The conquered race, strange to say, was not satisfied. It had
signally failed to appreciate the blessings of civilisation. If life
was a trifle less secure under the rule of the King, why, that was all
in accordance with national custom. In the good old days there was
plenty of fun and fighting, of raids far and near; of the mustering of
regiments at the King's kraal, and cattle-killing and feasting and
dancing. Yes, life was life in those days, when looked at from the
point, of view of a warrior nation. But now, all this had given place
to a state of things which from that point of view was utterly nauseous.
The great circle of Bulawayo proudly dominating the land was razed to
the ground, its place occupied by a solitary house, whence the white man
governed a nation of conquered slaves. Below, in the valley, which
formerly shook to the hum and thunder of marching impis, the white man
was dumping down his iron houses and calling it his town. Throughout
the land even the oldest and most powerful indunas were under white
officials, to whom they were obliged to give deferential greeting, and
all the little phases of excitement incidental to former days were
sternly forbidden. Moreover, the conquerors had seized all the cattle
of the nation, and now the land was flooded with arrogant, masterful
whites, to whom no spot was sacred if only it was thought to contain a
little gold. Outwardly patient, but with black rage and inexhaustible
hostility gnawing at their hearts, chiefs and people alike sullenly
brooded; and on such dry tinder the sparks, artfully kindled by the
"Abantwana 'Mlimo," fell as on well-prepared ground.

Seated there upon the ground, Shiminya continued to shake his bowl of
hell-broth. Save for a few birds' claws and a bladder or two fastened
in his thick wool--for he was not ringed--he was destitute of the
revolting gewgaws of his profession. Suddenly the wolf emitted a low
snarl, simultaneously with an inarticulate wail which proceeded from the
hut behind.

"Ha--my Lupiswana! Ha--ha, my good little beast!" chuckled Shiminya,
apostrophising the creature. "Tea--lick thy jaws, for I think it is
time for more blood--only a little--only a taste. _Hau_!"

As though understanding these words the brute rose, and sneaked over to
the wicker door of the hut, sniffing at