is hand. Whatever were its contents, he drank the
whole at a draught, threw the gourd from him, and once more entered the
circle, where, seating himself on the ground, he remained silent, his
eyes bent downwards, apparently waiting for the coming inspiration. All
looks were fixed upon him, and not a word was spoken. At last he
suddenly started to his feet and began speaking rapidly, following out
the tale from beginning to the end, winding up with the death of the
warrior Sgalam. "Sorcery has done this," he continued. "The strong man
does not die in an hour; the warrior's soul does not start for another
land like that of the weakly infant. Is it the men of the Batonga who
have done this deed? No. Is it the braves of Manica? No. The
Matabele are among us. Does the blow come from them? Mozelkatse's
warrior would scorn the deed. Is it from the Madanda, or the strange
tribes of Gorongoza, death has come, or has the evil eye been used by
the dwellers on the Maxe, who love us not? No. To none of these does
the far-seeing eye of Koomalayoo trace the deed. But white men are with
us, white men who are not traders. Have they worked the evil?"

Koomalayoo paused. A subdued murmur ran through the circle. Wyzinski's
face looked calm and natural as usual; but the soldier's, though
unconscious of the meaning of the words, was flushed, and he himself
nervous and excited. The murmur died away, and again the sorcerer
spoke. A sigh of relief burst from the missionary's lips as Koomalayoo
continued. "I tell you, no. It is not the white men whose blood must
atone for that of the dead chief--No." All at once, whirling round as
on a pivot, the arm and hand holding the gold rod fully extended, the
diviner span round; then as suddenly stopping, the rod pointed right
between Luji's eyes. "It is the black skin who has come among us, with
his familiar demon on his shoulders. Behold the worker of the charm!
When the black imp leaped upon our brother among the warriors in
council, he spit the venom into his ear. That night our brother died."

Koomalayoo's eyes fairly blazed with fury as he looked full at Luji's
quivering, shrinking frame. The man seemed fascinated, and his
terror-stricken face turned into bronze as the sorcerer yelled forth the
terrible words, "Let fire drive out the demon from among us," and fell
to the ground apparently exhausted.

For a moment there was a deep, dead silence; the rustle of the leaves