air heralded the coming of the storm,
yet it did not come. By four o'clock, however, it became obvious that
it must burst soon--at sunset, the old chief said, and in the company
of the whole assembly I moved down to the place of combat. The kraal was
built on the top of a hill, and below it the land sloped gently to the
banks of a river about half a mile away. On the hither side of the
bank was the piece of land that was, the natives said, "loved of the
lightning." Here the magicians took up their stand, while the spectators
grouped themselves on the hillside about two hundred yards away--which
was, I thought, rather too near to be pleasant. When we had sat there
for a while my curiosity overcame me, and I asked leave of the chief to
go down and inspect the arena. He said I might do so at my own risk. I
told him that the fire from above would not hurt white men, and went
to find that the spot was a bed of iron ore, thinly covered with grass,
which of course accounted for its attracting the lightning from the
storms as they travelled along the line of the river. At each end of
this iron-stone area were placed the combatants, Indaba-zimbi facing the
east, and his rival the west, and before each there burned a little
fire made of some scented root. Moreover they were dressed in all the
paraphernalia of their craft, snakeskins, fish-bladders, and I know not
what beside, while round their necks hung circlets of baboons' teeth
and bones from human hands. First I went to the western end where
the chief's son stood. He was pointing with his assegai towards the
advancing storm, and invoking it in a voice of great excitement.

"Come, fire, and lick up Indaba-zimbi!

"Hear me, Storm Devil, and lick Indaba-zimbi with your red tongue!

"Spit on him with your rain!

"Whirl him away in your breath!

"Make him as nothing--melt the marrow in his bones!

"Run into his heart and burn away the lies!

"Show all the people who is the true Witch Finder!

"Let me not be put to shame in the eyes of this white man!"

Thus he spoke, or rather chanted, and all the while rubbed his broad
chest--for he was a very fine man--with some filthy compound of medicine
or _mouti_.

After a while, getting tired of his song, I walked across the
iron-stone, to where Indaba-zimbi sat by his fire. He was not chanting
at all, but his performance was much more impressive. It consisted in
staring at the eastern sky, which was perfectly clear of cloud, and