m a somewhat different direction, I recognised at once
as the mouth of the Black Kloof, in which, over a year before, I had
interviewed Zikali the Little and Wise. There was no mistaking the
spot; that blasted valley, with the piled-up columns of boulders and the
overhanging cliff at the end of it, have, so far as I am aware, no exact
counterparts in Africa.

I sat upon the box of the first wagon, eating my food, which consisted
of some biltong and biscuit, for I had not bothered to shoot any game
that day, which was very hot, and wondering whether Zikali were still
alive, also whether I should take the trouble to walk up the kloof and
find out. On the whole I thought that I would not, as the place repelled
me, and I did not particularly wish to hear any more of his prophecies
and fierce, ill-omened talk. So I just sat there studying the wonderful
effect of the red evening light pouring up between those walls of
fantastic rocks.

Presently I perceived, far away, a single human figure--whether it were
man or woman I could not tell--walking towards me along the path which
ran at the bottom of the cleft. In those gigantic surroundings it
looked extraordinarily small and lonely, although perhaps because of the
intense red light in which it was bathed, or perhaps just because it
was human, a living thing in the midst of all that still, inanimate
grandeur, it caught and focused my attention. I grew greatly interested
in it; I wondered if it were that of man or woman, and what it was doing
here in this haunted valley.

The figure drew nearer, and now I saw it was slender and tall, like that
of a lad or of a well-grown woman, but to which sex it belonged I could
not see, because it was draped in a cloak of beautiful grey fur. Just
then Scowl came to the other side of the wagon to speak to me about
something, which took off my attention for the next two minutes. When I
looked round again it was to see the figure standing within three yards
of me, its face hidden by a kind of hood which was attached to the fur
cloak.

"Who are you, and what is your business?" I asked, whereon a gentle
voice answered:

"Do you not know me, O Macumazana?"

"How can I know one who is tied up like a gourd in a mat? Yet is it
not--is it not--"

"Yes, it is Mameena, and I am very pleased that you should remember my
voice, Macumazahn, after we have been separated for such a long, long
time," and, with a sudden movement, she threw back the karos