t by the tail, and laughing at the alarm he had caused, Hughes
walked towards the entrance of the hut, where, attracted by the report,
the missionary and Masheesh stood.

Just as he reached it, a long, loud, wailing cry rang out from the very
centre of the kraal. For a moment all was silent, and then once more it
was heard. There was an unusual bustle, the savages, male and female,
seeming much excited. Soon many other voices chimed in, and it became
evident that something had happened to cause sorrow and lamentation in
the tribe. Masheesh had already gone, and breakfast was to the two
white men of more importance than anything that could affect their
hosts, the Amatongas.

Volume 1, Chapter XII.

THE DEAD CHIEF.

The sun had risen in all its splendour, the smoke from the many fires
curling spirally up into the air, for there was hardly the faintest
breeze. Every thing betokened the heat of an African day. Under the
shadow of their tree sat the two Europeans, their rifles leaning against
its trunk. Luji was near, playing with the baboon, which was chattering
and making hideous faces; the missionary busily employed taking notes of
the journey, and Hughes skinning carefully the caracal he had that
morning shot. Things seemed to have quieted down in the kraal, and the
excitement to have partially at least died away. Not knowing whether
they were to consider themselves prisoners or not, though the guard had
not resumed their post, and thinking if they left the camp the act might
be wrongly construed by Umhleswa, the white men remained where they
were.

"What is the matter with the Matabele?" asked Hughes, as he raised his
eyes and saw Masheesh coming down among the huts in a manner very
different from his usual stately pace.

"We shall soon know the cause; see how the muscles of his black face are
working, and listen to the shouts of the Amatongas behind him. Well,
Masheesh, what's wrong?" asked Wyzinski, looking at him, with his pencil
and note book in his hand.

"Sgalam is dead!" replied the Matabele, in an excited tone.

"And who the deuce is Sgalam?" asked the missionary, calmly bending his
head once more over his work.

"The chief who spoke so bitterly against the white men; he who
threatened to denounce Umhleswa if they were not put to death; refusing
to hear the words of Mozelkatse, and who was threatened by Luji with
death."

"Well, a chief has departed from among his people, and the Amatonga