!" he said, pointing to the crowd of us who had been
smelt out. "Ye were doomed to death by these false prophets. Now glut
yourselves upon them. Slay them, my children! slay them all! wipe them
away! stamp them out!--all! all, save this young man!"

Then we bounded from the ground, for our hearts were fierce with hate
and with longing to avenge the terrors we had borne. The doomed slew the
doomers, while from the circle of the Ingomboco a great roar of laughter
went up, for men rejoiced because the burden of the witch-doctors had
fallen from them.

At last it was done, and we drew back from the heap of the dead.
Nothing was heard there now--no more cries or prayers or curses. The
witch-finders travelled the path on which they had set the feet of many.
The king drew near to look. He came alone, and all who had done his
bidding bent their heads and crept past him, praising him as they went.
Only I stood still, covered, as I was with mire and filth, for I did not
fear to stand in the presence of the king. Chaka drew near, and looked
at the piled-up heaps of the slain and the cloud of dust that yet hung
over them.

"There they lie, Mopo," he said. "There lie those who dared to prophecy
falsely to the king! That was a good word of thine, Mopo, which taught
me to set the snare for them; yet methought I saw thee start when
Nobela, queen of the witch-doctresses, switched death on thee. Well,
they are dead, and the land breathes more freely; and for the evil which
they have done, it is as yonder dust, that shall soon sink again to
earth and there be lost."

Thus he spoke, then ceased--for lo! something moved beneath the cloud
of dust, something broke a way through the heap of the dead. Slowly it
forced its path, pushing the slain this way and that, till at length it
stood upon its feet and tottered towards us--a thing dreadful to look
on. The shape was the shape of an aged woman, and even through the blood
and mire I knew her. It was Nobela, she who had doomed me, she whom but
now I had smitten to earth, but who had come back from the dead to curse
me!

On she tottered, her apparel hanging round her in red rags, a hundred
wounds upon her face and form. I saw that she was dying, but life still
flickered in her, and the fire of hate burned in her snaky eyes.

"Hail, king!" she screamed.

"Peace, liar!" he answered; "thou art dead!"

"Not yet, king. I heard thy voice and the voice of yonder dog, whom I
would have given to