he Intaba Inyoka stood humped against the
suffusing sky; but what drew and held his gaze was a kind of natural
platform, immediately below, part rock, part soil. This, however, lay
black amid the surrounding green--black as though through the action of
fire; but its blackness was strangely relieved, chequered, by patches of
white. He recognised it for the spot described by Sybrandt and also by
Hlangulu--the place where cattle were sacrificed at intervals to the
shades of the departed King.

Something else caught his eye, something moving overhead. Heavens! the
great boulder, overhanging like a penthouse, was falling--falling over!
In a moment he would be shut in, buried alive in this ghastly tomb.
Appalled, he gazed upwards, his eyes straining on it, and then he could
have laughed aloud, for the solution was simple. A light breeze had
sprung and up, the topmost boughs of the _Kafferboen_, swaying to its
movement, were meeting the boulder, then swinging away again, producing
just that curious and eerie effect to one in a state of nervous tension.
He stood watching this optical delusion, and laughed again. Decidedly
his nerves were overstrung. Well, this would not do. Facing once more
within the cave, he concluded to start upon his research without further
delay.

It was lighter now--indeed, but for the chastened gloom of the interior,
nearly as light as it ever would be. He approached the farther end.
Mouldering old blankets crumbled under his tread. He could see the
whole of the interior, and again he laughed to himself--recalling the
legend of the King's Snake. There was no recess that would hide so much
as a mouse. He scattered the fragments of old clothing with the stock
of his rifle, laying bare layers of crumbling matting. More eagerly
still he parted these when he came to the central heap. Layer by layer,
he tore away the stuff-ancient hide wrappings, ornamented with worn
bead-work--beneath the mats of woven grass; then something white
appeared--white, and smooth, and round. Eagerly, yet carefully, he
parted the wrappings; and lo, protruding from them--not lying, but in a
bolt-upright position--a great grinning skull!

He stepped back a pace or two, and stood gazing at this with intense
interest, not unmixed with awe. Here, then, sat the dead King--
Umzilikazi, the mighty; the founder of a great and martial nation; the
scourge, the devastator of a vast region,--here he sat, the warrior
King, befo