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Title:      Heu-Heu, or the Monster
Author:     H. Rider Haggard
* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *
eBook No.:  0200191.txt
Language:   English
Date first posted: March 2002
Date most recently updated: March 2002

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Title:      Heu-Heu, or the Monster
Author:     H. Rider Haggard






AUTHOR'S NOTE

  The author wishes to state that this tale was written in its
  present form some time before the discovery in Rhodesia of the
  fossilized and immeasurably ancient remains of the proto-human
  person who might well have been one of the Heuheua, the "Hairy
  Wood-Folk," of which it tells through the mouth of Allan
  Quatermain.

  1923.




CHAPTER I



THE STORM


Now I, the Editor, whose duty it has been as an executor or otherwise,
to give to the world so many histories of, or connected with, the
adventures of my dear friend, the late Allan Quatermain, or
Macumazahn, Watcher-by-Night, as the natives in Africa used to call
him, come to one of the most curious of them all. Here I should say at
once that he told it to me many years ago at his house called "The
Grange," in Yorkshire, where I was staying, but a little while before
he departed with Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good upon his last
expedition into the heart of Africa, whence he returned no more.

At the time I made very copious notes of a history that struck me as
strange and suggestive, but the fact is that afterwards I lost them
and could never trust my memory to reproduce even their substance with
the accuracy which I knew my departed friend would have desired.

Only the other day, however, in turning out a box-room, I came upon a
hand-bag which I recognized as one that I had used in the far past
when I was practising, or trying to practise, at the Bar. With a
certain emotion such as overtakes us when, after the lapse of many
years, we are confronted by articles connected with the long-dead
events of our youth, I took it to a window and with some difficulty
opened its rusted catch. In the bag was a small collection of rubbish:
papers connected with cases on which once I had worked as "devil" for
an eminent and learned friend who afterwards became a judge, a blue
pencil with a broken point, and so forth.

I looked through the papers and studied my own marginal notes made on
points in causes which I had utterly forgotten, though doubtless these
had been important enough to me at the time, and, with a sigh, tore
them up and threw them on the floor. Then I reversed the bag to knock
out the dust. As I was doing this there slipped from an inner pocket,
a very thick notebook with a shiny black cover such as used to be
bought for sixpence. I opened that book and the first thing that my
eye fell upon was this heading:


 "Summary of A. Q.'s Strange Story of the Monster-God, or Fetish,
  Heu-Heu, which He and the Hottentot Hans Discovered in Central
  South Africa."


Instantly everything came back to me. I saw myself, a young man in
those days, making those shorthand notes late one night in my bedroom
at the Grange before the impression of old Allan's story had become
dim in my mind, also continuing them on the train upon my journey
south on the morrow, and subsequently expanding them in my chambers at
Elm Court in the Temple whenever I found time to spare.

I remembered, too, my annoyance when I discovered that this notebook
was nowhere to be found, although I was aware that I had put it away
in some place that I thought particularly safe. I can still see myself
hunting for it in the little study of the house I had in a London
suburb at the time, and at last giving up the quest in despair. Then
the years went on and many things happened, so that in the end both
notes and the story they outlined were forgotten. Now they have
appeared again from the dust-heap of the past, reviving many memories,
and I set out the tale of this particular chapter of the history of
the adventurous life of my beloved friend, Allan Quatermain, who so
long ago was gathered to the Shades that await us all.



One night, after a day's shooting, we--that is, old Allan, Sir Henry
Curtis, Captain Good, and I--were seated in the smoking room of
Quatermain's house, the Grange, in Yorkshire, smoking and talking of
many things.

I happened to mention that I had read a paragraph, copied from an
American paper, which stated that a huge reptile of an antediluvian
kind had been seen by some hunters in a swamp of the Zambesi, and
asked Allan if he believed the story. He shook his head and answered
in a cautious fashion which suggested to me, I remember, his
unwillingness to give his views as to the continued existence of such
creatures on the earth, that Africa is a big place and it was possible
that in its recesses prehistoric animals or reptiles lingered on.

"I know that this is the case with snakes," he continued hurriedly as
though to avoid the larger topic, "for once I came across one as large
as the biggest Anaconda that is told of in South America, where
occasionally they are said to reach a length of sixty feet or more.
Indeed, we killed it--or rather my Hottentot servant, Hans, did--after
it had crushed and swallowed one of our party. This snake was
worshipped as a king of gods, and might have given rise to the tale of
enormous reptiles. Also, to omit other experiences of which I prefer
not to speak, I have seen an elephant so much above the ordinary in
size that it might have belonged to a prehistoric age. This elephant
has been known for centuries and was named Jana.

"Did you kill it?" inquired Good, peering at him through his
eyeglasses in his quick, inquisitive way.

Allan coloured beneath his tan and wrinkles, and said, rather sharply
for him, who was so gentle and hard to irritate,

"Have you not learned, Good, that you should never ask a hunter, and
above all a professional hunter, whether he did or did not kill a
particular head of game unless he volunteers the information? However,
if you want to know, I did not kill that elephant; it was Hans who
killed it and thereby saved my life. I missed it with both barrels at
a distance of a few yards!"

"Oh, I say, Quatermain!" ejaculated the irrepressible Good. "Do you
mean to tell us that /you/ missed a particularly big elephant that was
only a few yards off? You must have been in a pretty fright to do
that."

"Have I not said that I missed it, Good? For the rest, perhaps you are
right, and I was frightened, for as you know, I never set myself up as
a person remarkable for courage. In the circumstances of the encounter
with this beast, Jana, any one might have been frightened; indeed,
even you yourself, Good. Or, if you choose to be charitable, you may
conclude that there were other reasons for that disgraceful--yes,
disgraceful exhibition of which I cannot bear to think and much less
to talk, seeing that in the end it brought about the death of old Hans
--whom I loved."

Now Good was about to answer again, for argument was as the breath of
his nostrils, but I saw Sir Henry stretch out his long leg and kick
him on the shin, after which he was silent.

"To return," said Allan hastily, as one does who desires to escape
from an unpleasant subject, "in the course of my life I did once meet,
not with a prehistoric reptile, but with a people who worshipped a
Monster-god, or fetish, of which perhaps the origin may have been a
survival from the ancient world."

He stopped with the air of one who meant to say no more, and I asked
eagerly: "What was it, Allan?"

"To answer that would involve a long story, my friend," he replied,
"and one that, if I told it, Good, I am sure, would not believe; also,
it is getting late and might bore you. Indeed, I could not finish it
to-night."

"There are whisky, soda, and tobacco, and whatever Curtis and Good may
do, here, fortified by these, I remain between you and the door until
you tell me that tale, Allan. You know it is rude to go to bed before
your guests, so please get on with it at once," I added, laughing.

The old boy hummed and hawed and looked cross, but as we all sat round
him in an irritating silence which seemed to get upon his nerves, he
began at last:



Well, if you will have it, many years ago, when by comparison I was a
young man, I camped one day well up among the slopes of the
Drakensberg. I was going up Pretoria way with a load of trade goods
which I hoped to dispose of among the natives beyond, and when I had
done so to put in a month or two game-shooting towards the north. As
it happened, when we were in an open space of ground between two of
the foothills of the Berg, we got caught in a most awful thunderstorm,
one of the worst that ever I experienced. If I remember right, it was
about mid-January and you, my friend [this was addressed to me], know
what Natal thunderstorms can be at that hot time of the year. It
seemed to come upon us from two quarters of the sky, the fact being
that it was a twin storm of which the component parts were travelling
towards each other.

The air grew thick and dense; then came the usual moaning, icy wind
followed by something like darkness, although it was early in the
afternoon. On the peaks of the mountains around us lightnings were
already playing, but as yet I heard no thunder, and there was no rain.
In addition to the driver and voorlooper of the wagon I had with me
Hans, of whom I was speaking just now, a little wrinkled Hottentot
who, from my boyhood, had been the companion of my journeys and
adventures. It was he who came with me as my after-rider when as a
very young man I accompanied Piet Retief on that fatal embassy to
Dingaan, the Zulu king, of whom practically all except Hans and myself
were massacred.

He was a curious, witty little fellow of uncertain age and of his sort
one of the cleverest men in Africa. I never knew his equal in resource
or in following a spoor, but, like all Hottentots, he had his faults;
thus, whenever he got the chance, he would drink like a fish and
become a useless nuisance. He had his virtues, also, since he was
faithful as a dog and--well, he loved me as a dog loves the master
that has reared it from a blind puppy. For me he would do anything--
lie or steal or commit murder, and think it no wrong, but rather a
holy duty. Yes, and any day he was prepared to die for me, as in the
end he did.

Allan paused, ostensibly to knock out his pipe, which was unnecessary,
as he had only just filled it, but really, I think, to give himself a
chance of turning towards the fire in front of which he was standing,
and thus to hide his face. Presently he swung round upon his heel in
the light, quick fashion that was one of his characteristics, and went
on:



I was walking in front of the wagon, keeping a lookout for bad places
and stones in what in those days was by courtesy called the road,
though in fact it was nothing but a track twisting between the
mountains, and just behind, in his usual place--for he always stuck to
me like a shadow--was Hans. Presently I heard him cough in a hollow
fashion, as was his custom when he wanted to call my attention to
anything, and asked over my shoulder,

"What is it, Hans?"

"Nothing, Baas," he answered, "only that there is a big storm coming
up. Two storms, Baas, not one, and when they meet they will begin to
fight and there will be plenty of spears flying about in the sky, and
then both those clouds will weep rain or perhaps hail."

"Yes," I said, "there is, but as I don't see anywhere to shelter,
there is nothing to be done."

Hans came up level with me and coughed again, twirling his dirty
apology for a hat in his skinny fingers, thereby intimating that he
had a suggestion to make.

"Many years ago, Baas," he said, pointing with his chin towards a mass
of tumbled stones at the foot of a mountain slope about a mile to our
left, "there used to be a big cave yonder, for once when I was a boy I
sheltered in it with some Bushmen. It was after the Zulus had cleaned
out Natal and there was nothing to eat in the land, so that the people
who were left fed upon one another."

"Then how did the Bushmen live, Hans?"

"On slugs and grasshoppers, for the most part, Baas, and buck when
they were lucky enough to kill any with their poisoned arrows. Fried
caterpillars are not bad, Baas, nor are locusts when you can get
nothing else. I remember that I, who was starving, grew fat on them."

"You mean that we had better make for this cave of yours, Hans, if you
are sure it's there?"

"Yes, Baas, caves can't run away, and though it is many years ago, I
don't forget a place where I have lived for two months."

I looked at those advancing clouds and reflected. They were uncommonly
black and evidently there was going to be the devil of a storm.
Moreover, the situation was not pleasant for we were crossing a patch
of ironstone on which, as I knew from experience, lightning always
strikes, and a wagon and a team of oxen have an attraction for
electric flashes.

While I was reflecting a party of Kaffirs came up from behind, running
for all they were worth, no doubt to seek shelter. They were dressed
in their finery--evidently people going to or returning from a
wedding-feast, young men and girls, most of them--and as they went by
one of them shouted to me, whom evidently he knew, as did most of the
natives in those parts, "Hurry, hurry, Macumazahn!" as you know the
Zulus called me. "Hurry, this place is beloved of lightnings," and he
pointed with his dancing stick first to the advancing tempest and then
to the ground where the ironstone cropped up.

That decided me, and running back to the wagon I told the voorlooper
to follow Hans, and the driver to flog up the oxen. Then I scrambled
in behind and off we went, turning to the left and heading for the
place at the foot of the slope where Hans said the cave was. Luckily
the ground was fairly flat and open--hard, too; moreover, although he
had not been there for so many years, Hans's memory of the spot was
perfect. Indeed, as he said, it was one of his characteristics never
to forget any place that he had once visited.

Thus, from the driving box to which I had climbed, suddenly I saw him
direct the voorlooper to bear sharply to the right and could not
imagine why, as the surface there seemed similar to that over which we
were travelling. As we passed it, however, I perceived the reason, for
here was a ground spring which turned a large patch of an acre or more
into a swamp, where certainly we should have been bogged. It was the
same with other obstacles that I need not detail.

By now a great stillness pervaded the air and the gloom grew so thick
that the front oxen looked shadowy; also it became very cold. The
lightning continued to play upon the mountain crests, but still there
was no thunder. There was something frightening and unnatural in the
aspect of nature; even the cattle felt it, for they strained at the
yokes and went off very fast indeed, without the urgings of whips or
shouts, as though they too knew they were flying from peril. Doubtless
they did, since instinct has its voices which speak to everything that
breathes. For my part, my nerves became affected and I hoped earnestly
that we should soon reach that cave.

Presently I hoped it still more, for at length those clouds met and
from their edges as they kissed each other came an awful burst of fire
--perhaps it was a thunderbolt--that rushed down and struck the earth
with a loud detonation. At any rate, it caused the ground to shake and
me to wish that I were anywhere else, for it fell within fifty yards
of the wagon, exactly where we had been a minute or so before.
Simultaneously there was a most awful crash of thunder, showing that
the tempest now lay immediately overhead.

This was the opening of the ball; the first sudden burst of music.
Then the dance began with sheets and forks of flame for dancers and
the great sky for the floor upon which they performed.

It is difficult to describe such a hellish tempest because, as you, my
friend, who have seen them, will know, they are beyond description.
Lightnings, everywhere lightnings; flash upon flash of them of all
shapes--one, I remember, looked like a crown of fire encircling the
brow of a giant cloud. Moreover, they seemed to leap upwards from the
earth as well as downwards from the heaven, to the accompaniment of
one continuous roar of thunder.

"Where the deuce is your cave?" I yelled into the ear of Hans, who had
climbed on to the driving box beside me.

He shrieked something in answer which I could not catch because of the
tumult, and pointed to the base of the mountain slope, now about two
hundred yards away.

The oxen /skrecked/ and began to gallop, causing the wagon to bump and
sway so that I thought it would overset, and the voorlooper to leave
hold of the /reim/ and run alongside of them for fear lest he should
be trodden to death, guiding them as best he could, which was not
well. Luckily, however, they ran in the right direction.

On we tore, the driver plying his whip to keep the beasts straight,
and as I could see from the motion of his lips, swearing his hardest
in Dutch and Zulu, though not a word reached my ears. At length they
were brought to a halt by the steep slope of the mountain and
proceeded to turn round and tie themselves into a kind of knot after
the fashion of frightened oxen that for any reason can no longer pull
their load.

We leapt down and began to outspan them, getting the yokes off as
quickly as we could--no easy job, I can tell you, both because of the
mess in which they were and for the reason that it must be carried out
literally under fire, since the flashes were falling all about us.
Momentarily I expected that one of them would catch the wagon and make
an end of us and our story. Indeed, I was so frightened that I was
sorely tempted to leave the oxen to their fate and bolt to the cave,
if cave there were--for I could see none.

However, pride came to my aid, for if I ran away, how could I ever
expect my Kaffirs to stand again in a difficulty? Be as much afraid as
you like, but never show fear before a native; if you do, your
influence over him is gone. You are no longer the great White Chief of
higher blood and breeding; you are just a common fellow like himself;
inferior to himself, indeed, if he chances to be a brave specimen of a
people among whom most of the men are brave.

So I pretended to take no heed of the lightnings, even when one struck
a thorn tree not more than thirty paces away. I happened to be looking
in that direction and saw the thorn in the flare, every bough of it.
Next second all I saw was a column of dust; the thorn had gone and one
of its splinters hit my hat.

With the others I tugged and kicked at the oxen, getting the thongs
off the /yoke-skeis/ as best I could, till at length all were loose
and galloping away to seek shelter under overhanging rocks or where
they could in accordance with their instincts. The last two, the pole
oxen--valuable beasts--were particularly difficult to free, as they
were trying to follow their brethren and strained at the yokes so much
that in the end I had to cut the /rimpis/, as I could not get them out
of the notches of the /yoke-skeis/. Then they tore off after the
others, but did not get far, poor brutes, for presently I saw both of
them--they were running together--go down as though they were shot
through the heart. A flash had caught them; one of them never stirred
again; the other lay on its back kicking for a few seconds and then
grew as still as its yoke-mate.



"And what did you say?" inquired Good in a reflective voice.

"What would you have said, Good?" asked Allan severely, "if you had
lost your best two oxen in such a fashion, and happened not to have a
sixpence with which to buy others? Well, we all know your command of
strong language, so I do not think I need ask you to answer."

"I should have said----" began Good, bracing himself to the occasion,
but Allan cut him short with a wave of his hand.

"Something about /Jupiter Tonans/, no doubt," he said.

Then he went on.



Well, what I said was only overheard by the recording angel, though
perhaps Hans guessed it, for he screamed at me,

"It might have been /us/, Baas. When the sky is angry, it will have
/something/; better the oxen than us, Baas."

"The cave, you idiot!" I roared. "Shut your mouth and take us to the
cave, if there is one, for here comes the hail."

Hans grinned and nodded, then hastened by a large hailstone which hit
him on the head, began to skip up the hill at a surprising rate,
beckoning to the rest of us to follow. Presently we came to a tumbled
pile of rocks through which we dodged and scrambled in the gloom that
now, when the hail had begun to fall, was denser than ever between the
flashes. At the back of the biggest of these rocks Hans dived among
some bushes, dragging me after him between two stones that formed a
kind of natural gateway to a cavity beyond.

"This is the place, Baas," he said, wiping the blood that ran down his
forehead from a cut in the head made by the hailstone.

As he spoke, a particularly vivid flash showed me that we were in the
mouth of a cavern of unknown size. That it must be large, however, I
guessed from the echoes of the thunder that followed the flash, which
seemed to reverberate in that hollow place from unmeasured depths in
the bowels of the mountain.




CHAPTER II



THE PICTURE IN THE CAVE


We did not reach the cave too soon, for as the boys scrambled into it
after us the hail began to come down in earnest, and you fellows know,
or at any rate have heard, what African hail can be, especially among
the mountains of the Berg. I have known it to go through sheets of
galvanized iron like rifle bullets, and really I believe that some of
the stones which fell on this occasion would have pierced two of them
put together, for they were as big as flints and jagged at that. If
anybody had been caught in that particular storm on the open veldt
without a wagon to creep under or a saddle to put over his head, I
doubt whether he would have lived to see a clear sky again.

The driver, who was already almost weeping with distress over the loss
of Kaptein and Deutchmann, as the two pole oxen were named, grew
almost crazed because he thought that the hail would kill the others,
and actually wanted to run out into it with the wild idea of herding
them into some shelter. I told him to sit still and not be a fool,
since we could do nothing to help them. Hans, who had a habit of
growing religious when there was lightning about, remarked
sententiously that he had no doubt that the "Great-Great" in the sky
would look after the cattle since my Reverend Father (who had
converted him to the peculiar faith, or mixture of faiths, which, with
Hans, passed for Christianity) had told him that the cattle on a
thousand hills were His especial property, and, here in the Berg, were
they not among the thousand hills? The Zulu driver who had not "found
religion," but was just a raw savage, replied with point that if that
were so the "Great-Great" might have protected Kaptein and Deutchmann,
which He had clearly neglected to do. Then, after the fashion of some
furious woman, by way of relieving his nerves, he fell to abusing
Hans, whom he called "a yellow jackal," adding that the tail of the
worst of the oxen was of more value than his whole body, and that he
wished his worthless skin were catching the hailstones instead of
their inestimable hides.

These nasty remarks about his personal appearance irritated Hans, who
drew up his lips as does an angry dog, and replied in suitable
language, which involved reflections upon that Zulu's family, and
especially on his mother. In short, had I not intervened there would
have been a very pretty row that might have ended in a blow from a
kerry or a knife thrust. This, however, I did with vigour, saying that
he who spoke another word should be kicked out of the cave to keep
company with the hail and the lightning, after which peace was
restored.

That storm went on for a long while, for after it had seemed to go
away it returned again, travelling in a circle as such tempests
sometimes do, and when the hail was finished, it was followed by
torrential rain. The result was that by the time the thunder had
ceased to roar and echo among the mountain-tops darkness was at hand,
so it became evident that we must stop where we were for the night,
especially as the boys, who had gone out to look for the oxen,
reported that they could not find them. This was not pleasant, as the
cave was uncommonly cold and the wagon was too soaked with the rain to
sleep in.

Here, however, once more Hans's memory came in useful. Having borrowed
my matches, he crept off down the cave and presently returned,
dragging a quantity of wood after him, dusty and worm-eaten-looking
wood, but dry and very suitable for firing.

"Where did you get that?" I asked.

"Baas," he replied, "when I lived in this place with the Bushmen, long
before those black children" (this insult referred to the driver and
the voorlooper, Mavoon and Induka by name) "were begotten of their
unknown fathers, I hid away a great stock of wood for the winter, or
in case I should ever come back here, and there it is still, covered
with stones and dust. The ants that run about the ground do the same
thing, Baas, that their children may have food when they are dead. So
now if those Kaffirs will help me to get the wood we may have a good
fire and be warm."

Marvelling at the little Hottentot's foresight that was bred into his
blood by the necessities of a hundred generations of his forefathers,
I bade the others to accompany him to the cache, which they did,
glowering, with the result that presently we had a glorious fire. Then
I fetched some food, for luckily I had killed a Duiker buck that
morning, the flesh of which we toasted on the embers, and with it a
bottle of Square-face from the wagon, so that soon we were eating a
splendid dinner. I know that there are many who do not approve of
giving spirits to natives, but for my part I have found that when they
are chilled and tired a "tot" does them no harm and wonderfully
improves their tempers. The trouble was to prevent Hans from getting
more than one, to do which I made a bedfellow of that bottle of
Square-face.

When we were filled I lit my pipe and began to talk with Hans, whom
the grog had made loquacious and therefore interesting. He asked me
how old the cave was, and I told him that it was as old as the
mountains of the Berg. He answered that he had thought so because
there were footprints stamped in the rock floor farther down it, and
turned to stone, which were not made by any beasts that he had ever
heard of or seen, which footprints he would show me on the morrow if I
cared to look at them. Further, that there were queer bones lying
about, also turned to stone, that he thought must have belonged to
giants. He believed that he could find some of these bones when the
sun shone into the cave in the early morning.

Then I explained to Hans and the Kaffirs how once, thousands of
thousands of years ago, before there were any men in the world, great
creatures had lived there, huge elephants and reptiles as large as a
hundred crocodiles made into one, and, as I had been told, enormous
apes, much bigger than any gorilla. They were very interested, and
Hans said that it was quite true about the apes, since he had seen a
picture of one of them, or of a giant that looked like an ape.

"Where?" I asked. "In a book?"

"No, Baas, here in this cave. The Bushman made it ten thousand years
ago." By which he meant at some indefinite time in the past.

Now I bethought me of a fabulous creature called the /Ngoloko/ which
was said to inhabit an undefined area of swamps on the East Coast and
elsewhere. This animal, in which, I may add, I did not in the least
believe, for I set it down as a native bogey, was supposed to be at
least eight feet high, to be covered with gray hair and to have a claw
in the place of toes. My chief authority for it was a strange old
Portuguese hunter whom I had once known, who swore that he had seen
its footprints in the mud, also that it had killed one of his men and
twisted the head off his body. I asked Hans if he had ever heard of
it. He replied that he had, under another name, that of /Milhoy/, I
think, but that the devil painted in the cave was larger than that.

Now I thought that he was pitching me a yarn, as natives will, and
said that if so he had better show me the picture forthwith.

"Best wait until the sun shines in the morning, Baas," he replied,
"for then the light will be good. Also this devil is not nice to look
at at night."

"Show it me," I repeated with asperity; "we have lanterns from the
wagon."

So, somewhat unwillingly, Hans led the way up the cave for fifty paces
or more, for the place was very big, he carrying one lantern and I
another, while the two Zulus followed with candles in their hands. As
we went I saw that on the walls there were many Bushmen paintings,
also one or two of the carvings of this strange people. Some of these
paintings seemed quite fresh, while others were faded or perhaps the
ochre used by the primitive artist had flaked off. They were of the
usual character, drawings of elands and other buck being hunted by men
who shot at them with arrows; also of elephants and a lion charging at
some spearmen.

One, however, which oddly enough was the best preserved of any of the
collection, excited me enormously. It represented men whose faces were
painted white and who seemed to wear a kind of armour and queer
pointed caps upon their heads, of the sort that I believe are known as
Phrygian, attacking a native kraal of which the reed fence was clearly
indicated, as were the round huts behind. Moreover, to the left some
of these men were dragging away women to what from a series of wavy
lines, looked like a rude representation of the sea.

I stared and gasped, for surely here before me was a picture of
Phoenicians carrying out one of their women-hunting raids, as ancient
writers tell us it was their habit to do. And if so, that picture must
have been painted by a Bushman who lived at least two thousand years
ago, and possibly more. The thing was amazing. Hans, however, did not
seem to be interested, but pushed on as though to finish a
disagreeable task, and I was obliged to follow him, fearing lest I
should be lost in the recesses of that vast cave.

Presently he came to a crevice in the side of the cavern which I
should have passed unnoticed, as it was exactly like many others.

"Here is the place, Baas," he said, "just as it used to be. Now follow
me and be careful where you step, for there are cracks in the floor."

So I squeezed myself into the opening where, although I am not very
large, there was barely room for me to pass. Within its lips was a
narrow tunnel, either cut out by water or formed by the rush of
explosive gases hundreds of thousands of years ago--I think the
latter, as the roof, which was not more than eight or nine feet from
the floor, had sharp points and roughnesses that showed no water-wear.
But as I have not the faintest idea how these great African caves were
formed, I will not attempt to discuss the matter. This floor, however,
was quite smooth, as though for many generations it had been worn by
the feet of men, which no doubt was the case.

When we had crept ten or twelve paces down the tunnel, Hans called to
me to stand quite still--not to move on any account. I obeyed him,
wondering, and by the light of my lantern saw him lift his own, which
had a loop of hide fastened through the tin eye at the top of it for
convenience in hanging it up in the wagon, and set it, or rather the
hide loop, round his neck, so that it hung upon his back. Then he
flattened himself against the side of the cavern with his face to the
wall as though he did not wish to see what was behind him, and
cautiously crept forward with sidelong steps, gripping the roughnesses
in the rock with his hands. When he had gone some twenty or thirty
feet in this crab-like fashion, he turned and said,

"Now, Baas, you must do as I did."

"Why?" I asked.

"Hold down the lantern and you will see, Baas."

I did so, and perceived that a pace or two farther on there was a
great chasm in the floor of the tunnel of unknown depth, since the
lamplight did not penetrate to its bottom. Also I noted that the ledge
at the side that formed the bridge by which Hans had passed, was
nowhere more than twelve inches, and in some places less than six
inches wide.

"Is it deep?" I asked.

By way of answer Hans found a bit of broken rock and threw it into the
gulf. I listened, and it was quite a long while before I heard it
strike below.

"I told the Baas," said Hans in a superior tone, "that he had better
wait until to-morrow when some light comes down this hole, but the
Baas would not listen to me and doubtless he knows best. Now would the
Baas like to go back to bed, as I think wisest, and return to-morrow?"

If the truth were known there was nothing that I should have liked
better, for the place was detestable. But I was in such a rage with
Hans for playing me this trick that even if I thought that I was going
to break my neck I would not give him the pleasure of mocking me in
his sly way.

"No," I answered quietly, "I will go to bed when I have seen this
picture you talk about, and not before."

Now Hans grew alarmed and begged me in good earnest not to try to
cross the gulf, which reminded me vaguely of the parable of Abraham
and Dives in the Bible, with myself playing the part of Dives, except
that I was not thirsty, and Hans did not in any way resemble Abraham.

"I see how it is," I said, "there is not any picture and you are
simply playing one of your monkey tricks on me. Well, I'm coming to
look, and if I find you have been telling lies I'll make you sorry for
yourself."

"The picture is there or was when I was young," answered Hans
sullenly, "and for the rest, the Baas knows best. If he breaks every
bone in his body presently, don't let him blame me, and I pray that he
will tell the truth, all of it, to his Reverend Father in the sky who
left him in my charge, saying that Hans begged him not to come but
that because of his evil temper he would not listen. Meanwhile, the
Baas had better take off his boots, since the feet of those Bushmen
whose spooks I feel all about me have made the ledge very slippery."

In silence I sat down and removed my boots, thinking to myself that I
would gladly give all my savings that were on deposit in the bank at
Durban, to be spared this ordeal. What a strange thing is the white
man's pride, especially if he be of the Anglo-Saxon breed, or what
passes by that name. There was no need for me to take this risk, yet,
rather than be secretly mocked at by Hans and those Kaffirs, here I
was about to do so just for pride's sake. In my heart I cursed Hans
and the cave and the hole and the picture and the thunderstorm that
brought me there, and everything else I could remember. Then, as it
had no strap like that of Hans, although it smelt horribly, I took the
tin loop of my lantern in my teeth because it seemed the only thing to
do, put up a silent but most earnest prayer, and started as though I
liked the job.

To tell the truth, I remember little of that journey except that it
seemed to take about three hours instead of under a minute, and the
voices of woe and lamentation from the two Zulus behind, who insisted
upon bidding me a tender farewell as I proceeded, amidst other
demonstrations of affection, calling me their father and their mother
for four generations.

Somehow I wriggled myself along that accursed ridge, shoving my
stomach as hard as I could against the wall of the passage as though
this organ possessed some prehensile quality, and groping for knobs of
rock on which I broke two of my nails. However, I did get over all
right, although just towards the end one of my feet slipped and I
opened my mouth to say something, with the result that the lantern
fell into the abyss, taking with it a loose front tooth. But Hans
stretched out his skinny hand, and, meaning to catch me by the coat
collar, got hold of my left ear, and, thus painfully supported, I came
to firm ground and cursed him into heaps. Although some might have
thought my language pointed, he did not resent it in the least, being
too delighted at my safe arrival.

"Never mind the tooth, Baas," he said. "It is best that it should be
gone without knowing it, as it were, because you see you can now eat
crusts and hard biltong again, which you have not been able to do for
months. The lantern, however, is another matter, though perhaps we can
get a new one at Pretoria or wherever we go."

Recovering myself, I peered over the edge of the abyss. There, far,
far below, I saw my lantern, which was a sort that burns oil, flaring
upon a bed of something white, for the container had burst and all the
oil was on fire.

"What is that white stuff down there?" I asked. "Lime?"

"No, Baas, it is the broken bones of men. Once when I was young, with
the help of the Bushmen I let myself down by a rope that we twisted
out of rushes and buckskins, just to look, Baas. There is another cave
underneath this one, Baas, but I didn't go into it because I was
frightened."

"And how did all those bones come there, Hans? Why, there must be
hundreds of them!"

"Yes, Baas, many hundreds, and they came this way. Since the beginning
of the world the Bushmen lived in this cave and set a trap here by
laying branches over the hole and covering them with dust so that they
looked like rock, just as one makes a game pit, Baas--yes, they did
this until the last of them were killed not so long ago by the Boers
and Zulus, whose sheep and beasts they stole. Then when their enemies
attacked them, which was often, for it has always been right to kill
Bushmen--they would run down the cave and into the cleft and creep
along the narrow edge of rock, which they could do with their eyes
shut. But the silly Kaffirs, or whoever it might be, running after
them to kill them would fall through the branches and get killed
themselves. They must have done this quite often, Baas, since there
are such a lot of their skulls down there, many of them quite black
with age and turned to stone.

"One might have thought that the Kaffirs would have grown wiser,
Hans."

"Yes, Baas, but the dead keep their wisdom to themselves, for I
believe that when all the attackers were in the passage, then other
Bushmen, who had been hiding in the cave, came up behind and shot them
with poisoned arrows and drove them on into the hole so that none went
back; indeed, the Bushmen told me that this used to be their father's
plan. Also, if any did escape, in a generation or two all was
forgotten, and the same thing happened again because, Baas, there are
always plenty of fools in the world and the fool who comes after is
just as big as the fool who went before. Death spills the water of
wisdom upon the sand, Baas, and sand is thirsty stuff that soon grows
dry again. If it were not so, Baas, men would soon stop falling in
love with women, and yet even great ones--like you, Baas--fall in
love."

Having delivered this thrust, in order to prevent the possibility of
answer Hans began to chat with the driver and the voorlooper on the
other side of the gulf.

"Be quick and come over, you brave Zulus there," he said, "for you are
keeping your Chief waiting and me also."

The Zulus, holding their candles forward, peered into the pit below.

"/Ow!/" said one of them, "are we bats that we can fly over a hole
like that or baboons that we can climb on a shelf no wider than a
spear, or flies that we can walk upon a wall? /Ow!/ we are not coming,
we will wait here. That road is only for yellow monkeys like you or
for those who have the white man's magic like the Inkoos Macumazahn."

"No," replied Hans reflectively, "you are none of these creatures
which are all of them good in their way. You are just a couple of low-
born Kaffir cowards, black skins blown up to look like men. I, the
'yellow jackal,' can walk the gulf, and the Baas can walk the gulf,
but you, Windbags, cannot even float over it for fear lest you should
burst in the middle. Well, Windbags, float back to the wagon and fetch
the coil of small rope that is in the /voorkissie/, for we may want
it."

One of them replied in a humbled voice that they did not take orders
from him, a Hottentot, whereon I said,

"Go and fetch the rope and return at once."

So they went with a dejected air, for Hans's winged words had gone
home, and again they learned that at the end he always got the best of
a quarrel. The truth is that they were as brave as men can be, but no
Zulu is any good underground and least of all in the dark in a place
that he thinks haunted.

"Now, Baas," said Hans, "we will go and look at the picture--that is,
unless you are quite sure I am lying and that there is no picture, in
which case it is not worth while to take the trouble, and you had
better sit here and cut your broken nails until Mavoon and Induka come
back with the rope."

"Oh, get on, you poisonous little vermin!" I said, exasperated by his
jeers, emphasizing my words with a tremendous kick.

Here, however, I made a great mistake, since I had forgotten that at
the moment I lacked boots, and either Hans carried a collection of
hard articles in the seat of his filthy trousers or his posterior was
of a singularly stonelike nature. In short, I hurt my toes most
abominably and him not at all.

"Ah, Baas," said Hans with a sweet smile, "you should remember what
your Reverend Father taught me: always to put on your boots before you
kick against the thorn pricks. I have a gimlet and some nails in my
pistol pocket, Baas, that I was using this morning to mend that box of
yours."

Then he bolted incontinently lest I should experiment on his head and
see if there were nails in that also, and as he had the only lantern,
I was obliged to limp, or rather to hop, after him.

The passage, of which the floor was still worn smooth by thousands of
dead feet, went on straight for eight or ten paces and then bent to
the right. When we came to this elbow in it I saw a light ahead of me
which I could not understand till presently I found myself standing in
a kind of pit or funnel--it may have measured some thirty feet
across--that rose from the level at which we stood, right through the
strata to the mountain-side eighty or a hundred feet above us. What
had formed it thus I cannot conceive, but there it was--a funnel, as I
have said, in shape exactly like those that are used when beer is
poured into barrels or port wine into a decanter, the place on which
we were, being, of course, its narrower end. The light that I had seen
came, therefore, from the sky, which, now that the tempest had passed
away, was clean-washed and beautiful, sown with stars also, for at the
moment a dense black cloud remaining from the storm hid the moon, now
just past its full.

For a little way, perhaps five-and-twenty feet, the sides of this
tunnel were almost sheer, after which they sloped outwards steeply to
the mouth of the pit in the mountain flank. One other peculiarity I
noticed--namely, that on the western face of the tunnel which, as it
chanced, was in front of us as we stood, just where it began to
expand, projected a sloping ridge of rock like to the roof of a lean-
to shed, which ridge ran right across this face.

"Well, Hans," I said, when I had inspected this strange natural
cavity, "where is your picture? I don't see it."

"/Wacht een beetje/" (that is, "Wait a bit"), "Baas. The moon is
climbing up that cloud; presently she will get to the top of it and
then you will see the picture, unless someone has rubbed it out since
I was young."

I turned to look at the cloud and to witness a sight of which I never
have grown tired: the uprising of the glorious African moon out of her
secret halls of blackness. Already silver rays of light were shooting
across the vastness of the firmament, causing the stars to pale. Then
suddenly her bent edge appeared and with extraordinary swiftness grew
and grew till the whole splendid orb emerged from a bed of inky vapour
and for a while rested on its marge, perfect, wonderful! In an instant
our hole was filled with light so strong and clear that by it I could
have read a letter.

For a few moments I stood thrilled with the beauty of the scene, and
forgetting all else in its contemplation, till Hans said with a hoarse
cackle,

"Now turn round, Baas, and look at the pretty picture."

I did so, and followed the line of his outstretched hand, which
pointed to that face of the rock with the pent roof that looked
towards the east. Next second--my friends, I am not exaggerating--I
nearly fell backwards. Have any of you fellows ever had a nightmare in
which you dreamed you were in hell and suddenly met the devil tete-a-
tete, all by your little selves? At any rate, I have, and there in
front of me was the devil, only much worse than fond fancy can paint
him even with the brush of the acutest indigestion.

Imagine a monster double life size--that is to say, eleven or twelve
feet high--brilliantly portrayed in the best ochres of which these
Bushmen have always had the secret, namely, white, red, black, and
yellow, and with eyes formed apparently of polished lumps of rock
crystal. Imagine this thing as a huge ape to which the biggest gorilla
would be but a child, and yet not an ape but a man, and yet not a man,
but a fiend.

It was covered with hair like an ape, long gray hair that grew in
tufts. It had a great, red, bushy beard like a man; its limbs were
tremendous, the arms being of abnormal length like to the arms of a
gorilla, but, mark this, it had no fingers, only a great claw where
the thumb should be. The rest of the hand was all grown together into
one piece like a duck's foot, although what should have been the
finger part was flexible and could grip like fingers, as shall be
seen.

At least, that is what the picture suggested, though it occurred to me
afterwards that it might represent the creature as wearing fingerless
gloves such as men in this country use when cutting fences. The feet
however, which were certainly shown as bare, were the same; I mean
that there were no toes, only one terrible claw where the big toe
should be. The carcass was enormous; supposing it to have been drawn
from life, the original, I should guess, would have weighed at least
thirty stone; the chest was vast, indicating strength, and the paunch
beneath wrinkled and protuberant. But--and here came one of the human
touches--about its middle the thing wore a moocha or, rather, a hide
tied round it by the leg skins, which hide seemed to have been
dressed.

So much for the body. Now for the head and face. These I know not how
to describe, but I will try. The neck was as that of a bull, and
perched horribly on the top of it was quite a small head, which--
notwithstanding the great red beard whereof I have spoken that grew
upon the chin, and a wide mouth from whose upper jaw projected yellow
tusks like to those of a baboon that hung over the lower lip--was
curiously feminine in appearance; indeed, that of an old, old she-
devil with an aquiline nose. The brow, however, was disproportionate
to the rest of the face, being prominent, massive, and not
unintellectual, while set deep in it and unnaturally far apart were
those awful glaring crystal eyes.

That was not all, for the creature seemed to be laughing cruelly, and
the drawing showed by it laughed. One of its feet was set upon the
body of a man into which the great claw was driven deep. One of its
hands held the head of the man, that evidently it had just twisted
from the body. The other hand grasped by the hair a living naked girl
badly drawn, as though this detail had not interested the artist, whom
apparently it was about to drag away.



"Isn't it a pretty picture, Baas?" sniggered Hans. "Now the Baas will
not say that I tell lies, no, not for quite a week."




CHAPTER III



THE OPENER-OF-ROADS


I stared and stared, then was overcome with faintness and sat down
upon the ground.

I see you laughing at me, young man [this was addressed to me, the
recorder of the tale] who no doubt have already decided that this
drawing was the work of some imaginative Bushman who had gone mad and
set down upon the rock the hellish dream of a mind diseased. Of
course, that was the conclusion I came to myself next morning, but at
the time it did not strike me like that.

The place was lonesome and eerie, a horrible place with the pit full
of bones near by; heavily silent also except for a distant hyena or
jackal howling at the moon, and I had gone through some trials that
day--the passage of the death-pit, for instance, which reminded me of
the oubliettes in ancient Norman castles that I have read of down
which prisoners were hurled to doom. Also, as you may have observed,
even in your short career, moonlight differs from sunlight and we, or
some of us, are much more affected by horrible things at night than we
are by day. At any rate, I sat down because I felt faint and thought
that I was going to be ill.

"What is it, Baas?" queried the observant Hans, still mocking. "If you
want to be sick, Baas, please don't mind me, for I'll turn my back. I
remember that I was sick myself when first I saw Heu-Heu--just there,"
he added reminiscently, pointing to a certain spot.

"Why do you call that thing 'Heu-Heu,' Hans?" I asked, trying to
master the reflex action of my interior arrangements.

"Because that is his nice name, Baas, given him by his Mammie when he
was little, perhaps."

(Here I nearly /was/ sick, the idea of that creature with a mother
almost finished me--like the sight and smell of a bit of fat bacon in
a gale at sea.)

"How do you know that?" I gurgled.

"Because the Bushmen told me, Baas. They said that their fathers, a
thousand years ago, knew this Heu-Heu far away, and that they left
that part of the country because of him as they never slept well at
night there, just like a Boer when another Boer comes and builds a
house within six miles of him, Baas. I think they meant that they
heard Heu-Heu when he talked, for they told me that their great-great-
grandfathers could hear him doing it and beating his breast when he
was miles away. But I daresay they lied, for I don't believe they
really knew anything about Heu-Heu, or who painted his portrait on the
rock, Baas."

"No," I answered, "nor do I. Well, Hans, I think I have had enough of
your friend Heu-Heu for this evening, and should like to go back to
bed."

"Yes, Baas, so should I, Baas. Still, take another good look at him
before you leave. You don't see a picture like that every night, Baas,
and you know you wanted to come."

Now I would have kicked Hans again, but luckily I remembered those
nails in his pocket in time, so, after one lingering glance, I only
rose and loftily motioned to him to lead on.

This was the last that I saw of the likeness of Heu-Heu or Beelzebub,
or whoever the monster may have been. Somehow, although I intended to
return to examine it more closely by the light of day, when morning
came I thought that I would not risk another scramble over that ledge
but would be satisfied with the memory of first impressions. These
they say, are always the best--like first kisses, as Hans added when I
explained this to him.

Not that I could forget Heu-Heu; on the contrary, it is not too much
to say that this devilish creature haunted me. I could not dismiss
that picture as some mere flight of distorted savage imagination. From
a hundred characteristics I knew or thought I knew it, erroneously as
I now believe, to be Bushmen's work and was certain that no Bushman,
even if he had /delirium tremens/--not a complaint from which these
people ever suffered, because they lacked the opportunity of doing so,
could have evolved this monstrous creation out of his own soul--if a
Bushman has a soul. No, Bushman or not, that artist was drawing
something that he had seen, or thought that he had seen.

Of this there were several indications. Thus, on Heu-Heu's right arm
the elbow joint was much swollen as though he had once suffered an
injury there. Again, the claw of one of his horrible hands--the left,
I think--was broken and divided at the point. Further, there was a
wart or protuberance upon the brow, just beneath where the long iron-
gray tufts of hair parted in the middle and hung down on each side of
the demoniacal, womanish face. Now the painter must have remembered
these blemishes and set them down faithfully, copying from some
original, real or imagined. Certainly, I reflected, he would not have
invented them.

Where, then, did he get his model? I have mentioned that I had heard
rumours of creatures called /Ngolokos/, which I took it, if they
existed at all, were peculiarly terrific apes of an unknown variety.
Heu-Heu, then, might be a most distinguished and improved specimen of
these apes. Yet that could scarcely be, for this beast was more man
than monkey, notwithstanding his huge claws where the thumbs and big
toes should be. Or perhaps I should say that he was more devil than
either.

Another idea occurred to me: he might have been the god of these
Bushmen, only I never heard that they had any god except their own
stomaches. Afterwards I questioned Hans on this point but he replied
that he did not know, as the Bushmen he lived with in the cave had
never told him anything to that effect. It was true, however, that
they did not go to the place where the picture was except through fear
of enemies, and that when they did they would not look or speak about
it more than they could help. Perhaps, he suggested with his usual
shrewdness, Heu-Heu might be the god of some other people with whom
the Bushmen had nothing to do.

Another question--when was this work executed? Owing to its sheltered
position the colours were still fairly bright, but it must have been a
long while ago. Hans said that the Bushmen told him that they did not
know who painted it or what it represented, but that it was "/old,
old, old!/" which might mean anything or nothing, since to a people
without writing five or six generations become remote antiquity. One
thing was certain, however, that another of the paintings in the cave
was undoubtedly old, that of the Phoenicians raiding a kraal of which I
have spoken, which can scarcely have been executed since the time of
Christ. Of this I am sure, for I examined it carefully on the
following morning and it was not more faded than that of the Monster.
Further, in this picture a piece of the rock had scaled off just above
the left knee, and I had noticed that the surface thus exposed seemed
as much weathered as that of the surrounding rock outside the limits
of the painting.

On the other hand, it must be remembered that the Phoenician picture
was under cover, while that of Heu-Heu was exposed to the air and
would therefore age more rapidly.

Well, all that night I dreamed of this horrid Heu-Heu, dreamed that he
was alive and challenging me to fight him, dreamed that someone was
calling to me to rescue her--it was certainly her--not him--from the
power of the beast; dreamed that I did fight him and that he got me
down and was about to twist my head off as he had done to the man in
the picture, when something happened--I do not know what--and I woke
up covered with perspiration and in a most pitiable fright.



Now at the time I visited this cave I was not far from the borders of
Zululand on one of my trading expeditions, the wagon being laden with
blankets, beads, iron pots, knives, hoes, and such other articles as
the simple savage loves, or in those days loved to pay for in cattle.
Before the storm overtook us, however, I was contemplating leaving the
Zulus alone on this trip and trying to break new ground somewhere
north of Pretoria among less sophisticated natives who might put a
higher value on my wares. After seeing Heu-Heu, as it chanced, I
changed my mind for two reasons. The first of these was that the
lightning had killed my two best oxen and I thought that I could
replace these without cash expenditure in Zululand, where debts were
owing to me that I might collect in kind. The second was connected
with that confounded and obsessing Heu-Heu. I felt convinced that only
one man in the world could tell me about this monster, if, indeed,
there were anything to tell, namely, old Zikali, the wizard of the
Black Kloof, the /Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born/, as Chaka,
the great Zulu king, named him.

I think that I have told you all about Zikali before, but in case I
have not, I will say that he was the greatest witch doctor who ever
lived in Zululand and the most terrible. No one knew when he was born,
but undoubtedly he was very ancient and under his native name of
"Opener-of-Roads" had been known and dreaded in the land for some
generations. For many years, since my boyhood, indeed, he and I had
been friends in a fashion, though of course I was aware that from the
first he was using me for his own ends, as, indeed, became very clear
before all was done and he had triumphed over and brought about the
fall of the Zulu Royal House, which he hated.

However, Zikali, like a wise merchant, always paid those who served
him with a generous hand, in one coin or another, as he paid those he
hated. My coin was information, either historical or concerning the
hidden secrets of the strange land of Africa, of which, for all our
knowledge, we white men really understand so little. If any one could
give information about the picture in the cave and its origin, it
would be Zikali, and therefore to Zikali I would go. Curiosity about
such matters, as perhaps you have guessed, was always one of my
besetting sins.



We had great trouble in recovering our remaining fourteen oxen since
some of them had wandered far to find cover from the storm. At last,
however, they were found uninjured except for some bruises from the
hailstones, for it is wonderful, if they are left alone, how cattle
manage to protect themselves against the forces of nature. In Africa,
however, they seldom take shelter beneath trees during a thunderstorm,
as is their habit here in England, perhaps because, such tempests
being so frequent, they have inherited from their progenitors an
instinctive knowledge that lightning strikes trees and kills anything
that happens to be underneath them. At least, that is my experience.

Well, we inspanned and trekked away from that remarkable cave. Many
years afterwards, by the way, when Hans was dead, I tried to find it
again and could not. I thought that I reached the same mountain slope
in which it was, but I suppose that I must have been mistaken, since
in that neighbourhood there are multitudes of such slopes and on the
one that I identified I could discover no trace of the cave.

Perhaps this was because there had been a landslide and, with the
funnel-like shaft in the mountain side down which the moonlight poured
on to the picture of Heu-Heu, the orifice that, it will be remembered,
was very small, had been covered up with rocks. Or it may be that I
was searching the wrong slope, not having taken my bearings
sufficiently when I visited the place at a time of tempest and hurry.

Further, I was pressed and, desiring to reach a certain outspan before
night fell, could only give about an hour to the quest and when it
failed was obliged to get on. Nor have I ever met any one who was
acquainted with this cave, so I suppose that it must have been known
to the Bushmen and Hans only, dead now all of them, which is a pity
because of the wonderful paintings that it contains or contained.

You will remember I told you that just before the storm broke we were
overtaken by a party of Kaffirs going to or returning from some feast.
When we had gone about half a mile we found one of those Kaffirs again
quite dead, but whether he (the body was that of a young man) had been
killed by the lightning or by the hail, I was not sure. Evidently his
companions were so frightened that they had left him where he lay,
proposing, I suppose, to return and bury him later. So you will see
that when it gave us shelter, this cave did us a good turn.



Now I will skip all the details of my trek into Zululand, which was as
are other treks, only slower, because it was a hard job to get that
heavily laden wagon along with but fourteen oxen. Once, indeed, we
stuck in a river, the White Umfolozi, quite near to the Nongela Rock
or Cliff which frowns above a pool of the river. I shall never forget
that accident because it caused me to be the unwilling witness of a
very dreadful sight.

Whilst we were fast in the drift a party of men appeared upon the brow
of this Nongela Rock, about two hundred and fifty yards away, dragging
with them two young women. Studying them through my glasses, I came to
the conclusion from the way they moved their heads and stared wildly
about them, that these young women were blind or had been blinded. As
I looked at them, wondering what to do, the men seized the women by
the arms and hurled them over the edge of the cliff. With a piteous
wail the poor creatures rolled down the stratified rock into the deep
pool below and there the crocodiles got them, for distinctly I saw the
rush of the reptiles. Indeed, in this pool they were always on the
look-out, as it was a favourite place of execution under the Zulu
kings.

When their horrible business was finished the party of "slayers"--
there were about fifteen of them--came down to the ford to interview
us. At first I thought there might be trouble, and to tell the truth,
should not have been sorry, for the sight of this butchery had made me
furious and reckless. As soon as they found out, however, that the
wagon belonged to me, Macumazahn, they were all amiability, and wading
into the water, tackled on to the wheels, with the result that by
their help we came safe to the farther bank.

There I asked their leader who the two murdered girls might be. He
replied that they were the daughters of Panda, the King. I did not
question this statement although, knowing Panda's kindly character, I
doubted very much whether they were actually his children. Then I
asked why they were blind, and what crime they had committed. The
captain replied that they had been blinded by the order of Prince
Cetywayo, who even then was the real ruler of Zululand, because "they
had looked where they should not."

Further inquiry elicited the fact that these unhappy girls had fallen
in love with two young men, and run away with them against the King's
orders, or Cetywayo's, which was the same thing. The party were
overtaken before they could reach the Natal border, where they would
have been safe; the young men were killed at once and the girls
brought up for judgment, with the result that I have described. Such
was the end of their honeymoon!

Moreover, the captain informed me cheerfully that a body of soldiers
had been sent out to kill the fathers and mothers of the young men and
all who could be found in their kraals. This kind of free love must be
put a stop to, he said, as there had been too much of it going on;
indeed, he did not know what had come to the young people in Zululand,
who had grown very independent of late, contaminated, no doubt, by the
example of the Zulus in Natal, where the white men allowed them to do
what they liked without punishment.

Then with a sigh over the degeneracy of the times, this crusted old
conservative took a pinch of snuff, bade me a hearty farewell, and
departed, singing a little song which I think he must have invented,
as it was about the love of children for their parents. If it had been
safe I should have liked to let him have a charge of shot behind to
take away as a souvenir, but it was not. Also, after all, he was but
an executive officer, a product of the iron system of Zululand in the
day of the kings.

Well, I trekked on, trading as I went, and getting paid in cows and
heifers, which I sent back to Natal, but could come by no oxen that
were fit for the yoke, and much less any that had been broken in,
since in those days such were almost unknown in Zululand. However, I
did hear of some that had been left behind by a white trader because
they were sick or footsore, I forget which, who took young cattle in
exchange for them. These were said now to be fat again, but no one
seemed to know exactly where they were. One friendly chief told me,
however, that the "Opener-of-Roads," that is, old Zikali, might be
able to do so, as he knew everything and the oxen had been traded away
in his district.

Now by this time, although I was still obsessed about Heu-Heu, I had
almost made up my mind to abandon the idea of visiting Zikali on this
trip, because I had noticed that whenever I did so, always I became
involved in arduous and unpleasant adventures as an immediate
consequence. Being, however, badly in need of more oxen, for, not to
mention the two that were dead, others of my team seemed never to have
recovered from the effects of the hailstorm and one or two showed
signs of sickness, this news caused me to revert to my original plan.
So after consultation with Hans, who also thought it the best thing to
be done, I headed for the Black Kloof, which was only two short days'
trek away.

Arriving at the mouth of that hateful and forbidding gulf on the
afternoon of the second day, I outspanned by the spring and, leaving
the cattle in charge of Mavoon and Induka, walked up it accompanied by
Hans.

The place, of course, was just as it had always been, and yet, as it
ever did, struck me with a fresh sense of novelty and amazement. In
all Africa I scarcely know a gorge that is so eerie and depressing.
Those towering cliffsides that look as though they are about to fall
in upon the traveller, the stunted, melancholy aloe plants which grow
among the rocks; the pale vegetation; the jackals and hyaenas that
start away at the sound of voices or echoing footsteps; the dense dark
shadows; the whispering winds that seem to wail about one even when
the air is still over-head, draughts, I suppose, that are drawing
backwards and forwards through the gulley; all of these are peculiar
to it. The ancients used to declare that particular localities had
their own genii or spirits, but whether these were believed to be
evolved by the locality or to come thither because it suited their
character and nature, I do not know.

In the Black Kloof and some other spots to which I have wandered, I
have often thought of this fable and almost found myself accepting it
as true. But, then, what kind of a spirit would it be that chose to
inhabit this dreadful gorge? I think some embodiment--no, that word is
a contradiction--some impalpable essence of Tragedy, some doomed soul
whereof the head was bowed and the wings were leaded with a weight of
ineffable and unrepented crime.

Well, what need was there to fly to fable and imagine such an
invisible inhabitant when Zikali, the /Thing-that-should-never-have-
been-born/, was, and for uncounted years had been, the Dweller in this
tomb-like gulf? Surely he was Tragedy personified, and that hoary head
of his was crowned with ineffable and unrepented crime. How many had
this hideous dwarf brought down to doom and how many were yet destined
to perish in the snares that year by year he wove for them? And yet
this sinner had been sinned against and did but pay back his
sufferings in kind, he whose wives and children had been murdered and
whose tribe had been stamped flat beneath the cruel feet of Chaka,
whose House he hated and lived on to destroy. Even for Zikali
allowances could be made; he was not altogether bad. Is any man
/altogether/ bad, I wonder.

Musing thus, I tramped on up the gorge, followed by the dejected Hans,
whom the place always depressed, even more than it did myself.

"Baas," he said presently, in a hollow whisper, for here he did not
dare to speak aloud, "Baas, do you think that the Opener-of-Roads was
once Heu-Heu himself who has now shrunk to a dwarf with age, or at any
rate, that Heu-Heu's spirit lives in him?"

"No, I don't," I answered, "for he has fingers and toes like the rest
of us, but I do think that if there is any Heu-Heu he may be able to
tell us where to find him."

"Then, Baas, I hope that he has forgotten, or that Heu-Heu has gone to
heaven where the fires go on burning of themselves without the need
for wood. For, Baas, I do not want to meet Heu-Heu; the thought of him
turns my stomach cold."

"No, you would rather go to Durban and meet a gin bottle that would
turn your stomach warm, Hans, and your head, too, and land you in the
Trunk for seven days," I replied, improving the occasion.

Then we turned the corner and came upon Zikali's kraal. As usual, I
appeared to be expected, for one of his great silent body servants was
waiting, who saluted me with uplifted spear. I suppose that Zikali
must have had a look-out man stationed somewhere who watched the plain
beneath and told him who was approaching. Or possibly he had other
methods of obtaining information. At any rate, he always knew of my
advent and often enough why I came and whence, as, indeed, he did on
this occasion.

"The Father of Spirits awaits you, Lord Macumazahn," said the body
servant. "He bids the little yellow man who is named Light-in-
Darkness, to accompany you and will see you at once."

I nodded and the man led me to the gate of the fence that surrounded
Zikali's great hut, on which he tapped with the handle of his spear.
It was opened, by whom I did not see, and we entered, whereon someone
slipped out of the shadows and closed the gate behind us, then
vanished. There in front of the door of his hut, with a fire burning
before him, crouched the dwarf wrapped in a fur kaross, his huge head,
on either side of which the gray locks fell down much as they did in
the picture of Heu-Heu, bent forward, and the light of the fire into
which he was staring shining in his cavernous eyes. We advanced across
the shiny beaten floor of the courtyard and stood in front of him, but
for half a minute or more he took no notice of our presence. At
length, without looking up, he spoke in that hollow, resounding voice
which was unlike to any other I ever heard, saying:

"Why do you always come so late, Macumazahn, when the sun is off the
hut and it grows cold in the shadows? You know I hate the cold, as the
aged always do, and I was minded not to receive you."

"Because I could not get here before, Zikali," I answered.

"Then you might have waited until to-morrow morning unless, perhaps,
you thought that I should die in the night, which I shall not do. No,
nor for many nights. Well, here you are, little white Wanderer who
hops from place to place like a flea."

"Yes, here I am," I replied, nettled, "to visit you who do not wander
but sit in one spot like a toad in a stone, Zikali."

"Ho, ho, ho!" he laughed--that wonderful laugh of his which echoed
from the rocks and always made me feel cold down the back, "Ho, ho,
ho! how easy it is to make you angry. Keep your temper, Macumazahn,
lest it should run away with you as your oxen did before the storm in
the mountains the other day. What do you want? You only come here when
you want something from him whom once you named the Old Cheat. So I
don't wander, don't I, but sit like a toad in a stone? How do you know
that? Is it only the body that wanders? Cannot the spirit wander also,
far, oh, far, even to the 'Heaven Above' sometimes, and perhaps to
that land which is under the earth, the place where they say the dead
are to be found again? Well, what do you want? Stay, and I will tell
you, who explain yourself so badly, who, although you think that you
speak Zulu like a native, have never really learned it properly
because to do that you must think in it and not in your own stupid
tongue, that has no words for many things. Man, my medicines."

A figure darted out of the hut, set down a cat-skin bag before him,
and was gone again. Zikali plunged his claw-like hand into the bag and
drew out a number of knuckle bones, polished, but yellow with age,
which he threw carelessly on to the ground in front of him, then
glanced at them.

"Ha," he said, "something about cattle, I see; yes, you want to get
oxen, broken oxen, not wild ones, and think that I can tell you where
to do it cheap. By the way, what present have you brought for me? Is
it a pound of your white man's snuff?" (As a matter of fact, it was a
quarter of a pound.) "Now am I right about the oxen?"

"Yes," I replied, rather amazed.

"That astonishes you. It is wonderful, isn't it, that the poor Old
Cheat should know what you want? Well, I'll tell you how it is done.
You lost two oxen by lightning, did you not? You therefore, naturally
would want others, especially as some of those which remain"--here he
glanced at the bones once more--"were hurt, yes, by hailstones, very
large hailstones, and others are showing signs of sickness, red-water,
I think. Therefore, it isn't strange that the poor Old Cheat should
guess that you needed oxen, is it? Only a silly Zulu would put such a
thing down to magic. About the snuff, too, which I see you have taken
from your pocket--a very little parcel, by the way. You've brought me
snuff before, haven't you? Therefore, it isn't strange that I should
guess that you would do so again, is it? No magic there."

"None, Zikali, but how did you learn of the lightning killing the
cattle and of the hailstorm?"

"How did I learn that the lightning killed your pole-oxen, Kaptein and
Deutchmann? Why, are you not a very great man in whom all are
interested, and is it wonderful that I should be told of accidents
that happen a hundred miles or so away? You met a party going to a
wedding, did you not, just before the storm, and found one of them
dead afterwards? By the way, he wasn't killed either by lightning or
by hail. The flash fell near and stunned him, but really he died of
the cold during the night. I thought that you might like to know that,
as you are curious on the point. Of course, those Kaffirs would have
told me about it, would they not? No magic, again you see. That's how
we poor witch doctors gain repute, just by keeping our eyes and ears
open. When you are old you might set up in the trade yourself,
Macumazahn, since you do the same thing, even at night, they say."

Now while he went on mocking me he had gathered up the bones out of
the dust and suddenly threw them again with a curious spiral twist
that caused them to fall in a little heap, perched on one another. He
looked at them, and said,

"Why, what do these silly things remind me of? They are some of the
tools of my trade, you know, Macumazahn, used to impress the fools
that come to see us witch doctors, who think that they will tell us
secrets, and to take off their attention while we read their hearts.
Somehow or other they remind me of rocks piled one on another as on a
mountain slope, and look! there is a hollow in the middle like the
mouth of a cave.

"Did you chance to take refuge from that storm in a cave, Macumazahn?
Oh, you did! Well, see how cleverly I guessed it. No magic there
again, only just a guess. Isn't it likely that you would go to a cave
to escape from such a tempest, leaving the wagon outside? Look at that
bone there, lying a little distance off the others, that's what made
me think of the wagon being outside. But the question is, what did you
see in the cave? Anything out of the way, I wonder? The bones can't
tell me that, can they? I must guess that somehow else, mustn't I?
Well, I'll try to do so, just to give you, the wise white man, another
lesson in the manner that we poor rascals of witch doctors do our work
and take in fools. But won't you tell me, Macumazahn?"

"No, I won't," I answered crossly, who knew that the old dwarf was
making a butt of me.

"Then I suppose that I must try to discover for myself, but how, how?
Come here, you little yellow monkey of a man, and sit between me and
the fire so that its light shines through you, for then perchance I
may be able to see something of what is going on in that thick head of
yours, Light-in-Darkness, as you are called, and get some light in my
darkness."

Hans advanced unwillingly enough and squatted down at the spot that
Zikali indicated with his bony finger, being very careful that none of
the magic bones should touch any portion of his anatomy, for fear lest
they should bewitch him, I suppose. There he sat, holding his ragged
felt hat upon the pit of his stomach as though to ward off the gimlet-
like glances of Zikali's burning eyes.

"Ho-ho! Yellow Man," said the dwarf after a few seconds of inspection,
which caused Hans to wriggle uncomfortably and even to colour beneath
his wrinkled skin, like a young woman being studied by her prospective
husband, who desires to ascertain whether she will or will not do for
a fifth wife. "Ho-ho! it seems to me that you knew this cave before
you went there in the storm, but of course I should guess that, for
how otherwise would you have found it in such a hurry; also that it
had something to do with Bushmen, as most caves have in this land.

"The question is, what was in it? No, don't tell me. I want to find
out for myself. It is strange that the thought comes to me of
pictures. No, it isn't strange, since the Bushmen often used to paint
pictures in caves. Now, you shouldn't nod your head, Yellow Man,
because it makes the riddle too easy. Just stare at me and think of
nothing at all. Pictures, lots of them, but one principal picture, I
think; something that was difficult to come at. Yes, dangerous, even.
Was it perchance a picture of yourself that a Bushman drew long ago
when you were young and handsome, Yellow Man?

"There, again you are shaking your head. Keep it quite still, will
you, so that the thoughts in it don't ripple like water beneath a
wind. At least it was a picture of something hideous, but much bigger
than you. Ah! it grows and grows. I am getting it now. Macumazahn,
come and stand by me, and you, Yellow Man, turn your back so that you
face the fire. Bah! it burns badly, does it not, and the air is so
cold, so cold! I must make it brighter.

"Are you there, Macumazahn? Yes. Now look at this stuff of mine; see
what a fine blaze it causes," and putting his hand into the bag, he
drew out some kind of powder, only a little of it, which he threw on
to the embers. Then he stretched his skinny fingers over them as
though for warmth, and slowly lifted his arms high into the air. It is
a fact that after him the flames sprang up to a height of three or
four feet. He dropped his arms again and the flames sank down. He
lifted them once more and once more they rose, only this time much
higher. A third time he repeated this performance, and now the sheet
of flame sprang fully fifteen feet into the air and so remained
burning steadily, like the flame of a lamp.

"Look at that fire, Macumazahn, and you also, Yellow Man," he said, in
a strange new voice, a sort of dreamy far-off voice, "and tell me if
you see anything in it, for I can't--I can't."

I looked, and for a moment perceived nothing. Then some shape began to
grow upon the blazing background. It wavered; it changed; it became
fixed and definite, yes, clear and real. There before me, etched in
flame, I saw Heu-Heu--Heu-Heu as he had been in the painting on the
cave wall, only, as it seemed to me, alive, for his eyes blinked--Heu-
Heu, looking like a devil in hell. I gasped but stood firm. As for
Hans, he ejaculated in his vile Dutch,

"/Allemaghte! Da is die leeliker auld deil!/" (that is, "Almighty!
There is the ugly old devil!") and having said this, rolled over on to
his back and lay still, frozen with terror.

"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed Zikali. "Ho, ho, ho!" and from a dozen places
the walls of the kloof echoed back, "Ho, ho, ho!"




CHAPTER IV



THE LEGEND OF HEU-HEU


Zikali stopped laughing and contemplated us with his hollow eyes.

"Who was it who first said that all men are fools?" he asked. "I do
not know, but I think it must have been a woman, a pretty woman who
played with them and found that it was so. If so, she was wise, as all
women are in their narrow way, which the saying shows, since they are
left out of it. Well, I will add to the proverb; all men are cowards
also in one matter or another, though in the rest they may be brave
enough. Further, they are all the same, for what is the difference
between you, Macumazahn, wise White Man who have dared death a hundred
times, and yonder little yellow ape?" Here he pointed to Hans lying
upon his back, with rolling eyes and muttering prayers to a variety of
gods between his chattering teeth. "Both of you are afraid, one as
much as the other; the only difference being that the White Lord tries
to conceal his fear, whilst the Yellow Monkey chatters it out, as
monkeys do.

"Why are you so frightened? Just because by a common trick I show to
your eyes a picture of that which is in the minds of both of you. Mark
you again, not by magic but by a common trick which any child could
learn, if somebody taught it to him. I hope that you will not behave
like this when you see Heu-Heu himself, for if you do I shall be
disappointed in you and soon there will be two more skulls in that
cave of his. But then, perhaps, you will be brave; yes, I think so, I
think so, since never would you like to die remembering how long and
loud I should laugh when I heard of it."

Thus the old wizard rambled on, as was his fashion when he wished to
combine his acrid mockery with the desire to gain space for thought,
till presently he grew silent and took some of the snuff which I had
brought him, for he had been engaged in opening the packet while he
talked, all the while continuing to watch us as though he would search
out our very souls.

Now, because I thought that I must say something, if only to show that
he had not frightened me with his accursed manifestations, or whatever
they were, I answered,

"You are right, Zikali, when you say that all men are fools, seeing
that you are the first and biggest fool among them."

"I have often thought it, Macumazahn, for reasons that I keep to
myself. But why do you say so? Let me hear, who would learn whether
yours are the same as my own."

"First, because you talk as though there were such a creature as Heu-
Heu, which, as you know well, does not live and never did; and
secondly, because you speak as though Hans and I would meet it face to
face, which we shall never do. So cease from such nonsense and show us
how to make pictures in the fire--an art, you tell us, any child could
learn."

"If they are taught, Macumazahn, /if/ they are taught how. But were I
to do this, I should indeed be the first of fools. Do you think that I
wish to establish two rival cheats--you see, between ourselves, I give
myself my right name--in the land to trade against me? No, no, let
each keep the knowledge he has gained for himself, for if it becomes
common to all, who will pay for it? But why do you believe that you
will never stand face to face with Heu-Heu except in pictures on rock
or fire?"

"Because he doesn't exist," I answered with irritation; "and if he
does, I suppose his home is a long way off and I cannot trek without
fresh oxen."

"Ah!" said Zikali, "that reminds me of how you refuged in the cave
from the storm and the rest said that you wanted more oxen. So,
knowing that you would be in as great a hurry to get to Heu-Heu as a
young man is to find his first wife, I made ready. The story you heard
was quite true. A white trader did leave a very fine team of footsore
oxen in this neighbourhood, salted, every one of them, which after
three moons' rest, are now fat and sound. I will have them driven up
to-morrow morning and take care of yours while you are away."

"I have no money to pay for more oxen," I said.

"Is not the promise of Macumazahn better than any money, even the red
English gold? Does not the whole land know it? Moreover," he added
slowly, "when you return from visiting Heu-Heu you ought to have
plenty of money--or, rather, of diamonds, which is the same thing--and
perhaps of ivory, though of that I am not so sure. No, I am not sure
whether you will be able to carry the ivory. If I do not speak truth I
will pay for the oxen myself."

Now at the word "diamonds" I pricked up my ears, for just then all
Africa was beginning to talk about these stones; even Hans rose from
the ground and began once more to take interest in earthly things.

"That's a fair offer," I said, "but stop blowing dust" (i.e. talking
nonsense) "and tell me straight out what you mean before it grows
dark. I hate this kloof in the dark. Who is Heu-Heu? And if he or it
lives, or lived, where is Heu-Heu, dead or alive? Also, supposing that
there was or is a Heu-Heu, why do you, Zikali, wish me to find him, as
I perceive you do, who always have a reason for what you wish?"

"I will answer the last question first, Macumazahn, who, as you say,
always have a reason for what I want you or others to do."

Here he stopped and clapped his hands, whereon instantly one of his
great serving men appeared from the hut behind, to whom he gave some
order. The man darted away and presently was back with more of the
skin bags such as witch doctors use to carry their medicines. Zikali
opened one of these and showed me that it was almost empty, there
being in it but a pinch of brown powder.

"This stuff, Macumazahn," he said, "is the most wonderful of all
drugs, even more wonderful than the herb called /taduki/ that can open
the paths of the past, with which herb you will become acquainted one
day. By means of it--I speak not of /taduki/, but of the powder in the
bag--I do most of my tricks. For instance, it was with a dust of it
that I was able to show you and the little yellow man the picture of
Heu-Heu in the flames just now."

"You mean that it is a poison, I suppose."

"Oh, yes, among other things, by adding another powder it can be made
into a very deadly poison; so deadly that as little of it as will lie
upon the point of a thorn will kill the strongest man and leave no
trace. But it has other properties also that have to do with the mind
and the spirit; never mind what they are; if I tried to tell you, you
would not understand. Well, the Tree of Visions from the leaves of
which this medicine is ground grows only in the garden of Heu-Heu and
nowhere else in Africa, and I got my last supply of it thence many
years ago, long before you were born, indeed, Macumazahn; never mind
how.

"Now I must have more, of those leaves, or what these Zulus call my
magic, which wise white men like you know to be but my tricks, will
fail me, and the world will say that the Opener-of-Roads has lost his
strength and turn to seek wiser doctors."

"Then why do you not send and get some, Zikali?"

"Whom can I send that would dare to enter the land of Heu-Heu and rob
his garden? No one but yourself, Macumazahn. Ah! I read your mind. You
are wondering now if that be so, why I do not order that the leaves
should be brought to me from the place of Heu-Heu. For this reason,
Macumazahn. The dwellers there may not leave their hidden land; it is
against their law. Moreover, if they might they would not part even
with a handful of that drug, except at a great price. Once, a hundred
years ago" (by which, I suppose, he meant a long time), "I paid such a
price and bought a quantity of the stuff of which you see the last in
that bag. But that is an old story with which I will not trouble you.
Oh! many went and but two returned, and they mad, as those are apt to
be who have looked on Heu-Heu and left him living. If ever you see
Heu-Heu, Macumazahn, be sure to destroy him and all that is his, lest
his curse should follow you for the rest of your days. Fallen, he will
be powerless, but standing, his hate is very strong and reaches far,
or that of his priests does, which is the same thing."

"Rubbish!" I said. "If there is any Heu-Heu, he is but a big ape, and
living or dead, I am not afraid of any ape."

"I am glad to hear that, Macumazahn, and hope that you will always be
of the same mind. Doubtless it is only his picture painted on rock or
in the fire that frightens you, just as a dream is more terrible than
anything real. Some day you shall tell me which was the worse, Heu-
Heu's picture or Heu-Heu himself. But you asked me other questions.
The first of them was, Who is Heu-Heu?

"Well, I do not know. The legend tells that once, in the beginning,
there was a people white, or almost white, who lived far away to the
north. This people, says the old tale, were ruled over by a giant,
very cruel and very terrible; a great wizard also, or cheat, as you
would call him. So cruel and terrible was he, indeed, that his people
rose against him, and strong as he might be, forced him to fly
southwards with some who clung to him or could not escape him.

"So south he came with them, thousands of miles, until he found a
secret place that suited him to dwell in. That place is beneath the
shadow of a mountain of a sort that I have heard spouted out fire when
the world was young, which even now smokes from time to time. Here
this people, who are named Walloo, built them a town after their
northern fashion out of the black stone which flowed from the mountain
in past ages. But their king, the giant wizard, continued his
cruelties to them forcing them to labour night and day at his city and
Great House and a cave in which he was worshipped as a god, till at
last they could bear no more and murdered him by night.

"Before he died, however, which he took long to do because of his
magic, he mocked them, telling them that not thus would they be rid of
him since he would come back in a worse shape than before and still
rule over them from generation to generation. Moreover, he prophesied
disaster to them and laid this curse upon them, that if they strove to
leave the land that he had chosen, and to cross the ring of mountains
by which it is enclosed, they should die, every one of them. This,
indeed, happened, or so I have heard, since if even one of them
travels down the river, by which alone that country can be approached
from the desert, and sets foot in the desert, he dies, sometimes by
sudden sickness, or sometimes by the teeth of lions and other wild
beasts that live in the great swamp where the river enters the desert,
whither the elephants and other game come to drink from hundreds of
miles around."

"Perhaps fever kills them," I suggested.

"Maybe so, or poison, or a curse. At least, soon or late they die, and
therefore it comes about that now none of them leaves that land."

"And what happened to the Walloos after they had finished off this
kind king of theirs?" I asked, for Zikali's romantic fable interested
me. Of course, I knew that it was a fable, but in such tales,
magnified by native rumour, there is sometimes a grain of truth. Also
Africa is a great country, and in it there are very queer places and
peoples.

"Something very bad happened, Macumazahn, for scarcely was their king
dead when the mountain began to belch out fire and hot ashes, which
killed many of them and caused the rest to fly in boats across the
lake that makes an island of the mountain, to the forest lands that
lie around. There they live to this day upon the banks of the river
which flows through the forest, the same that passes through the gorge
of the mountains into the swamp, and there loses itself in the desert
sands. So, at least, my messengers told me a hundred years ago, when
they brought me the medicine that grows in Heu-Heu's garden."

"I suppose that they were afraid to go back to their town after the
eruption was over," I said.

"Yes, they were afraid, at which you will not wonder when you see it,
for when the mountain blew up the gases killed very many of them and
what is more, turned them to stone. Aye, there they sit, Macumazahn,
to this day, turned to stone, and with them their dogs and cattle."

Now at this amazing tale I burst out laughing, and even Hans grinned.

"I have noted, Macumazahn," said Zikali, "that in the beginning it is
you who always laugh at me, while in the end it is I who laugh at you,
and so I believe it will be in this case also. I tell you that there
those people sit turned to stone, and if it is not so, you need not
pay me for the oxen that I bought from the white man even should you
come back with your pockets full of diamonds."

Now I bethought me of what happened at Pompeii, and ceased to laugh.
After all, the thing was possible.

"That is one reason why they did not return to their town, even when
the mountain went to sleep again, but there was another, Macumazahn,
that was stronger still. Soon they found that it was haunted."

"Haunted! By what? By the stone men?"

"No, they are quiet enough, though what their spirits may be I cannot
tell you. Haunted by their king who they had killed, turned into a
gigantic ape, turned into Heu-Heu."

Now at this statement I did not laugh, although at first sight it
seemed much more absurd than that of the dead people who had been
petrified. For this reason: as I knew well, it is the commonest of
beliefs among savages, and especially those of Central Africa, that
dead chiefs, notably if they have been tyrants during their life, are
metamorphosed into some terrible animal, which thenceforward
persecutes them from generation to generation. The animal may be a
rogue elephant or a man-killing lion, or perhaps a very poisonous
snake. But whatever shape it takes, it always has this characteristic,
that it does not die and cannot be killed--at any rate, by any of
those whom it afflicts. Indeed, in my own experience I have come
across sundry examples of this belief among natives. Therefore, it did
not strike me as strange that these people should imagine their
country to be cursed by the spirit of a legendary tyrant turned into a
monster.

Only in the monster itself I put no faith. If it existed at all
probably it would resolve itself into a large ape, or perhaps a
gorilla living upon an island in the lake where it had become
marooned, or drifted upon a tree in a flood.

"And what does this spirit do?" I asked Zikali incredulously. "Throw
nuts or stones at people?"

"No, Macumazahn. According to what I have been told, it does much
more. At times it crosses to the mainland--some say on a log, some say
by swimming, some say as spirits can. There, if it meets any one, it
twists off his or her head" (here I bethought me of the picture in the
cave), "for no man can fight against its strength, or woman either,
because if she be old and ugly, it serves her in the same fashion, but
if she be young and well favoured, then it carries her away. The
island is said to be full of such women who cultivate the garden of
Heu-Heu. Moreover, it is reported that they have children who cross
the lake and live in the forest--terrible, hairy creatures that are
half human, for they can make fire and use clubs and bows and arrows.
These savage people are named Heuheua. They dwell in the forests, and
between them and the Walloos there is perpetual war."

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Yes, one thing. At a certain time of the year the Walloos must take
their fairest and best-born maiden and tie her to an appointed rock
upon the shore of the island upon a night of full moon. Then they go
away and leave her alone, returning at sunrise."

"And what do they find?"

"One of two things, Macumazahn; either that the maiden has gone, in
which case they are well pleased, except those of them to whom she is
related, or that she has been torn to pieces, having been rejected by
Heu-Heu, in which case they weep and groan, not for her but for
themselves."

"Why do they rejoice, and why do they weep, Zikali?"

"For this reason. If the maiden has been taken, Heu-Heu, or his
servants, the Heuheua, will spare them and his priests for that year.
Moreover, their crops will prosper and they be free from sickness. If
she has been killed, he or his servants haunt them, snatching away
other women, and they will have bad harvests; also fever and other
ills fall upon them. Therefore, the Offering of the Maiden is their
great ceremony, which, should she be taken, is followed by the Feast
of Rejoicing, and should she be rejected and slain, by the Fast of
Lamentation and the sacrifice of her parents or others."

"A pleasant religion, Zikali. Tell me, is it one that pleases these
Walloos?"

"Does any religion please any man, Macumazahn, and do tears, want,
sickness, bereavement, and death please those who are born into the
world? For example, like the rest of us, you white people suffer these
things, or so I have heard; also you have your own Heu-Heu or devil
who claims such sacrifices and yet avenges himself upon you. You are
not pleased with him, still you go on making your sacrifices of war
and blood and all wickedness in return for what he did to you, thereby
binding yourselves to him afresh and confirming his power over you,
and as you do, so do we all. Yet if you and the rest of us would but
stand up against him, perhaps his strength might be broken, or he
might be slain. Why, then, do we continue to sacrifice our maidens of
virtue, truth, and purity to him, and how are we better than those who
worship Heu-Heu, who do so to save their lives?"

I considered his argument, which was subtle for a savage, however old
and instructed, to have evolved from his limited opportunities of
observation, and answered rather humbly,

"I do not suppose that we are better at all." Then to change the
subject to something more practical, I added, "But what about those
diamonds?"

"The diamonds! Oho! the diamonds, which, by the way, I believe are one
of the offerings that you white people make to your own Heu-Heu. Well,
these people seem to have plenty of them. Of course, they are useless
to them, as they do not trade. Still, the women know that they are
pretty, and fasten them about themselves in little nets of hair after
polishing them upon stone, because they do not know how to make holes
in them, being so hard, and cannot set them in metals. Also they stick
them in the clay of their eating dishes before these are dried, making
pretty patterns with them. It seems that these stones and others that
are red, are washed down by the river from some desert across which it
flows above, through a tunnel in the mountains, I believe. At any
rate, they find them in plenty in the gravel on its banks, which they
set the children to sift in a closely woven sieve of human hair, or in
some such fashion. Stay, I will show you what they are like, for my
messengers brought me a fistful or two many years ago," and he clapped
his hands.

Instantly, as before, one of his servants appeared, to whom he gave
certain instructions. The man went, and presently returned with a
little packet of ancient, wrinkled skin that looked like a bit of an
old glove. This he untied and gave to me. Within were a quantity of
small stones that looked and felt like diamonds, very good diamonds,
as I judged from their colour, though none of them were large. Also
among them was a sprinkling of other stones that might have been
rubies, though of this I could not be sure. At a guess I should have
estimated the value of the parcel at 200  or 300 pounds. When I had
examined them, I offered them back to Zikali, but he waved his hand
and said:

"Keep them, Macumazahn, keep them. They are no good to me, and when
you come to the land of Heu-Heu, compare them with those you will find
there, just to show yourself that in this matter I do not lie."

"When I come to the land of Heu-Heu!" I exclaimed indignantly. "Where,
then, is this land, and how am I to reach it?"

"That I propose to tell you to-morrow, Macumazahn, not to-night, since
it would be useless to waste time and breath upon the business until I
know two things: first, whether you will go there, and secondly,
whether the Walloos will receive you if you do go."

"When I have heard the answer to the second question, we will talk of
the first, Zikali. But why do you try to make a fool of me? These
Walloos and the savage Heuheuas with whom they fight, I understand,
dwell far away. How, then, can you have the answer by to-morrow?"

"There are ways, there are ways," he answered dreamily, then seemed to
go into a kind of doze with his great head sunk upon his breast.

I stared at him for a while, till, growing weary of the occupation, I
looked about me and noted that of a sudden it was growing dusk. Whilst
I did so I began to hear screechings in the air: sharp, thin
screechings such as are made by rats.

"Look, Baas," whispered Hans in a frightened voice, "his spirits
come," and he pointed upwards.

I did look, and far above, as though they were descending from the
sky, saw some wide-winged, flittering shapes, three of them. They
descended in circles very swiftly, and I perceived that they were
bats, enormous and evil-looking bats. Now they were wheeling about us
so closely that twice their outstretched wings touched my face,
sending a horrid thrill through me; and each time that a creature
passed, it screeched in my ear, setting my teeth on edge.

Hans tried to beat away one of them from investigating him, whereon it
clung to his hand and bit his finger, or so I judged from the yell he
gave, after which he dragged his hat down over his head and plunged
his hands into his pockets. Then the bats concentrated their attention
upon Zikali. Round and round him they went in a dizzy whirl which grew
closer and closer, till at last two of them settled on his shoulders
just by his ears, and began to twitter in them, while the third hung
itself on to his chin and thrust its hideous head against his lips.

At this point in the proceedings Zikali seemed to wake up, for his
eyes opened and grew bright, also with his skinny hands he stroked the
bats upon his shoulders as though they were pet birds. More, he seemed
to speak with the creature that hung to his chin, talking in a
language which I could not understand, while it twittered back the
answers in its slate-pencil notes. Then suddenly he waved his arms and
all three of them took flight again, wheeling outwards and upwards,
till presently they vanished in the gloom.

"I tame bats and these are quite fond of me," he said by way of
explanation, then added, "Come back to-morrow morning, Macumazahn, and
perhaps I shall be able to tell you whether the Walloos wish for a
visit from you, and if so, to show you a road to their country."

So we went, glad enough to get away, since the Opener-of-Roads, with
his peculiar talk and manifestations, as I believe they call them in
spiritualistic circles, was a person who soon got upon one's nerves,
especially at nightfall. As we stumbled down that hateful gorge in the
gloom, Hans asked,

"What were those things that hung to Zikali's shoulders and chin?"

"Bats, very large bats. What else?" I answered.

"I think a great deal else, Baas. I think that they are his familiars
whom he is sending to those Walloos, just as he said."

"Do you believe in the Walloos and the Heuheua then, Hans? I don't."

"Yes, I do, Baas, and what is more, I believe that we shall visit
them, because Zikali means that we should, and who is there that can
fight against the will of the Opener-of-Roads?"




CHAPTER V



ALLAN MAKES A PROMISE


I never could sleep well in the neighbourhood of the Black Kloof. It
always seemed to me to give out evil and disturbing emanations, nor
was this night any exception to the rule. For hour after hour,
cogitating the old wizard's marvellous tale of the Walloos and Heu-
Heu, their devil-ghost, I lay in the midst of the intense silence of
that lonely place which was broken only by the occasional scream of a
night-hawk, or perhaps of the prey that it gripped, or the echoing
bark of some baboon among the rocks.

The story was foolishness. And yet--and yet there were so many strange
peoples hidden away in the vast recesses of Africa, and some of them
had these extremely queer beliefs or superstitions. Indeed, I began to
wonder whether it is not possible for these superstitions, persisted
in through ages, to produce something concrete, at any rate to the
minds of those whom they affect.

Also there were odd circumstances connected with this tale or romance
that might, in a way, be called corroborative. For instance, the
picture of Heu-Heu in the cave which Zikali, by his infernal arts or
tricks, reproduced in the flame of fire; for instance, the diamonds
and rubies, or crystals and spinels, whichever they might be, that at
present reposed in the pocket of my shooting coat. These, presuming
them to be the former, must have come from some very far-off or hidden
spot, since I had never seen or heard of such in any place that I had
visited, as they were entirely unlike those which, at that time, they
were beginning to find at Kimberley, being, for one thing, much more
water-worn.

Still, the presence of diamonds in a certain district had nothing to
do with the possible existence of a Heu-Heu. Therefore, they proved
nothing, one way or the other.

And if there were a Heu-Heu, did I wish to meet him face to face? In
one sense, not at all, but in another, very much indeed. My curiosity
was always great, and it would be wonderful to behold that which no
white man's eyes had ever seen, and still more wonderful also to
struggle with and kill such a monster. A vision rose before my eyes of
Heu-Heu stuffed in the British Museum with a large painted placard
underneath:


    Shot in Central Africa by
    Allan Quatermain, Esq.


Why, then I, the most humble and unknown of persons, would become
famous and have my likeness published in the /Graphic/, and probably
the /Illustrated London News/ also, perhaps with my foot set upon the
breast of the prostrate Heu-Heu.

That, indeed, would be glory! Only Heu-Heu looked a very nasty
customer, and the story might have a wrong ending; his foot might be
set upon /my/ breast, and he might be twisting off my head, as in the
cave picture. Well, in that case the illustrated papers would publish
nothing about it.

Then there was the story of the town full of petrified men and
animals. This must either be true or false, since it lacked ghostly
implications. Although I had never heard of anything of the sort,
there might be such a place, and if so, it would be splendid to be its
discoverer.

Oh, of what was I thinking? Zikali's yarn must be nonsense, and rank
fiction. Yet it reminded me of something I had once heard in my youth,
which for a long while I could not recall. At last, in a flash, it
came back to me. My old father, who was a learned scholar, had a book
of Grecian legends, and one of these about a lady called Andromeda,
the daughter of a king who, in obedience to popular pressure and in
order to avert calamities from his country, tied her up to a rock, to
be carried off by a monster that rose out of the sea. Then a magically
aided hero of the name of Perseus arrived at the critical moment,
killed the monster and took away the lady to be his wife.

Why, this Heu-Heu story was the same thing over again. The maiden was
tied to a rock; the monster came out of the sea, or rather, the lake,
and carried her off, whereby calamities were duly averted. So similar
was it, indeed, that I began to wonder whether it were not an echo of
the ancient myth that somehow had found its way into Africa. Only
hitherto there had been no Perseus in Heuheua Land. That role,
apparently, was reserved for me. And if so, what should I do with the
maiden? Restore her to a grateful family, I suppose, for certainly I
had no intention of marrying her. Oh, I was growing silly with
thinking! I would go to sleep; I /would/, I /wo/----



A minute or two later, or so it seemed, I woke up thinking, not of
Andromeda, but of the prophet Samuel, and for a while wondered what on
earth could have put this austere patriarch and priest into my head.
Then, being a great student of the Old Testament, I remembered that
autocratic seer's indignation when he heard the lowing of the oxen
which Saul spared from the general "eating up" of the Amalekites, as
the Zulus would describe it, by divine command. (What was the use of
cutting the throats of all that good stock, personally, I could never
understand.)

Well, in my ears also was the lowing of oxen, which, of course, formed
the connecting link. I marvelled what they could be, for our own were
grazing at a little distance, and poked my head out under the wagon-
hood to perceive a really beautiful team of trek cattle, eighteen of
them, for there were two spare beasts, which had just been driven up
to my camp by two strange Kaffirs. Then, of course, I remembered about
the oxen which Zikali had promised to sell me upon easy terms, or
under certain circumstances to give me, and thought to myself that in
this matter, at any rate, he had proved a wizard of his word.

Slipping on my trousers, I descended from the wagon to examine them,
and with the most satisfactory results. They had quite recovered from
their poverty and footsoreness that had caused their former owner to
leave them behind in Zikali's charge, and were now as fat as butter,
looking as though they would pull anything anywhere. Indeed, even the
critical Hans expressed his unqualified approval of the beasts which,
as he pointed out from various indications, really seemed to be
"salted," and inoculated also, some of them, as could be seen from the
loss of the ends of their tails.

Having sent them to graze in charge of the Kaffirs who had brought
them, for I did not wish them to mix with my own beasts, which showed
signs of sickness, I breakfasted in excellent spirits, as wherever I
might go I was now set up with draught beasts, and then bethought me
of my undertaking to revisit Zikali. Hans tried to excuse himself from
accompanying me, saying that he wanted to study the new oxen which
those strange Zulus might steal, etc.; the fact being, of course, that
he was afraid of the old wizard, and would not go near him again
unless he were obliged. However, I made him come, since his memory was
first rate, and four ears were better than two when Zikali was
concerned.

Off we trudged up the kloof, and as before, without delay, were
admitted within the fence surrounding the witch doctor's hut, to find
the Opener-of-Roads seated in front of it, as usual with a fire
burning before him. However hot the weather, he always kept that fire
going.

"What do you think of the oxen, Macumazahn?" he asked abruptly.

I replied with caution that I would tell him after I had proved them.

"Cunning as ever," said Zikali. "Well, you must make the best of them,
Macumazahn, and as I told you, you can pay me when you get back."

"Get back from where?" I asked.

"From wherever you are going, which at present you do not know."

"No, I don't, Zikali," I said, and was silent.

He also was silent for a long while, so long that at last he outwore
my patience, and I inquired sarcastically whether he had heard from
his friend Heu-Heu, by bat-post.

"Yes, yes, I have heard, or think that I have heard--not by bats, but
perchance by dreams or visions. Oho! Macumazahn, I have caught you
again. Why do you always walk into my snare so easily? You see some
bats, which in truth, as I told you, are but creatures that I have
tamed by feeding them for many years, flitter about me and fly away,
and you half believe that I have sent them a thousand miles to carry a
message and bring back an answer, which is impossible.

"Now I will tell the truth. Not thus do I communicate with those who
are afar. Nay, I send out my thought and it flies everywhere to the
ends of the earth, so that the whole earth might read it if it could.
Yet perchance it is attuned to one mind only among the millions, by
which it can be caught and interpreted. But for the vulgar--yes, and
even for the wise White Man who cannot understand--there remains the
symbol of the bats and their message. Why will you always seek the aid
of magic to explain natural things, Macumazahn?"

Now I reflected that my idea of nature and Zikali's differed, but
knowing that he was mocking me after his custom, and declining to
enter into argument as though it were beneath me, I said,

"All this is so plain that I wonder you waste breath in setting it
out. I only desired to know if you have any answer to your message,
however it was sent, and if so--what answer."

"Yes, Macumazahn, as it happens I have; it came to me just as I was
waking this morning. This is its substance; that the chief of the
Walloos, with whom my heart talked, and, as he believes, most of his
people, will be very glad to welcome you in their land, though, as he
believes again, the priests of Heu-Heu, who worship him as a god and
are sworn to his service, will not be glad. Should you choose to come,
the chief will give you all that you desire of the river diamonds or
aught else that he possesses, and you can carry away with you, also,
the medicine that /I/ desire. Further, he will protect you from
dangers so far as he is able. Yet for these gifts he requires
payment."

"What payment, Zikali?"

"The overthrow of Heu-Heu at your hands."

"And if I cannot overthrow Heu-Heu, Zikali?"

"Then certainly you will be overthrown and the bargain will fall to
the ground."

"Is it so? Well, if I go, shall I be killed, Zikali?"

"Who am I that I should dispense life or death, Macumazahn? Yet," he
added slowly, separating his words by deliberate pinches of snuff--
"yet I do not think that you will be killed. If I did I should not
trust you to pay me for those oxen on your return. Also I believe that
you have much work left to do in the world--my work, some of it,
Macumazahn, that could not be carried out without you. This being so,
the last thing I should wish would be to send you to your death."

I reflected that probably this was true, since always the old wizard
was hinting of some great future enterprise in which we should be
mixed up together; also I knew that he had a regard for me in his own
strange way, and therefore wished me no evil. Moreover, of a sudden a
great longing seized me to undertake this adventure in which perchance
I might see remarkable new things--I who was wearying of the old ones.
However, I hid this, if anything could be hid from Zikali, and asked
in a businesslike fashion,

"Where do you want me to go, how far off is it, and if I went, how
should I get there?"

"Now we begin to handle our assegais, Macumazahn" (by which he meant
that we were coming to business). "Hearken, and I will tell you."

Tell me he did indeed for over an hour, but I will not trouble you
fellows with all that he said, since geographical details are
wearisome and I want to get on with my story. You, my friend [this was
addressed to me, the Editor], are only stopping here over to-morrow
night, and it will take me all that time to finish it--that is, if you
wish to hear the end.

It is enough to say, therefore, that I had to trek about three hundred
miles north, cross the Zambesi, and then trek another three hundred
miles west. After this I must travel nor'west for a rather indefinite
distance till I came to a gorge in certain hills. Here I must leave
the wagon, if by this time I had any wagon, and tramp for two days
through a waterless patch of desert till I came to a swamp-like oasis.
Here the river of which Zikali had spoken lost itself in the sands of
the desert, whence I could see on a clear day the smoke of the volcano
of which he had also spoken. Crossing the swamp, or making my way
round it, I must steer for this slope, till at length I came to a
second gorge in the mountains, through which the river ran from
Heuheua Land out into the desert. There, according to Zikali, I should
find a party of Walloos waiting for me with canoes or boats, who would
take me on into their country, where things would go as they were
fated.

Before you leave, my friend, I will give you a map[*] of the route,
which I drew after travelling it, in case you or anybody else should
like to form a company and go to look for diamonds and fossilized men
in Heuheua Land, stipulating, however, that you do not ask me to take
shares in the venture.

[*] If Allan ever gave me this map, of which, after the lapse of so
    many years, I am not sure, I have put it away so carefully that it
    is entirely lost, nor do I propose to hunt for it amidst the
    accumulated correspondence of some five-and-thirty years.
    Moreover, if it were found and published, it might lead to foolish
    speculation and probable loss of money among maiden ladies, the
    clergy, and other venturesome persons.--Editor.

"So that's the trek," I said, when at last Zikali had finished. "Well,
I tell you straight out that I am not going to make it through unknown
country. How could I ever find my way without a guide? I'm off to
Pretoria with your oxen or without them."

"Is it so, Macumazahn? I begin to think that I am very clever. I
thought that you would talk like that and therefore have made ready by
finding a man who will lead you straight to the House of Heu-Heu.
Indeed, he is here, and I will send for him," and he summoned a
servant in his usual way and gave an order.

"Whence does he come, who is he, and how long has he been here?" I
asked.

"I don't quite know who he is, Macumazahn, for he does not talk much
about himself, but I understand that he comes from the neighbourhood
of Heuheua Land, or out of it, for aught I know, and he has been here
long enough for me to be able to teach him something of our Zulu
language, though that does not matter much since you know Arabic well,
do you not?"

"I can talk it, Zikali, and so can Hans, a little."

"Well, that is his tongue, Macumazahn, or so I believe, which will
make things easier. I may tell you at once that he is a strange sort
of man, not in the least like any one you would expect, but of that
you will judge for yourself."

I made no answer, but Hans whispered to me that doubtless he was one
of the children of the Heu-Heu and just like a great monkey. Although
he spoke in a low voice, and at a distance Zikali seemed to overhear
him, for he remarked,

"Then you will feel as though you had found a new brother, is it not
so, Light-in-Darkness?" which, if I have not said so before, was a
title that Hans had earned upon a certain honourable occasion.

Thereon Hans grew silent, since he dared not show his resentment of
this comparison of himself to a monkey to the mighty Opener-of-Roads.
I, too, was silent, being occupied with my own reflections, for now,
in a flash, as it were, I saw the whole trick laid bare of its
mysterious and pseudo-magical trappings. A messenger from some strange
and distant country had come to Zikali, demanding his help for reasons
that I did not know.

This he had determined to give through me, whom he thought suited to
the purpose. Hence his bribe of the oxen, the news of which he had
conveyed to me while I was still far off, having in some way become
acquainted with my dilemma. Indeed, it looked as though everything had
been part of a plan, though of course this was not possible, since
Zikali could not have arranged that I should take shelter in a
particular cave during a thunderstorm.

The sum of it was, however, that I should serve his turn, though what
exactly that might be I did not know. He said that he wanted to obtain
the leaves of a certain tree, which perhaps was true, but I felt sure
that there was more behind.

Possibly his curiosity was excited and he desired information about a
distant, secret people, since for knowledge of every kind he had a
perfect lust. Or perhaps in some occult fashion this Heu-Heu, if there
were a Heu-Heu, might be a rival who stood between him and his plans,
and therefore was one to be removed.

Allowing ninety per cent. of Zikali's supernatural powers to be pure
humbug, without doubt the remaining ten per cent. were genuine.
Certainly he lived and moved and had his being upon a different plane
from that of ordinary mortals, and was in touch with things and powers
of which we are ignorant. Also as I have reason to know, though I do
not trouble you with instances, he was in touch with others of the
same class or hierarchy throughout Africa--yes, thousands of miles
distant--of whom some may have been his friends and some his enemies
but all were mighty in their way.

While I was reflecting thus and old Zikali was reading my thoughts--as
I am sure he did, for I saw him smile in his grim manner and nod his
great head as though in approval of my acumen--the servant returned
from somewhere, ushering in a tall figure picturesquely draped in a
fur kaross that covered his head as well as his body. Arrived in front
of us, this person threw off the kaross and bowed in salutation, first
to Zikali and then to myself. Indeed, so great was his politeness that
he even honoured Hans in the same way, but with a slighter bow.

I looked at him in amazement, as well I might, since before me stood
the most beautiful man that I had ever seen. He was tall, something
over six feet high, and superbly shaped, having a deep chest, a sinewy
form, and hands and feet that would have done credit to a Greek
statue. His face, too, was wonderful, if rather sombre, perfectly
chiselled and almost white in colour, with great dark eyes, and there
was something about it that suggested high and ancient blood. He
looked, indeed, as though he had just stepped straight out of the
bygone ages. He might have been an inhabitant of the lost continent of
Atlantis or a sun-burned old Greek, for his hair, which was chestnut
brown, curled tightly, even where it hung down upon his shoulders,
though none grew upon his chin or about the curved lips. Perhaps he
was shaven. In short, he was a glorious specimen of mankind, differing
from any other I had seen.

His costume, too, was striking and peculiar, although dilapidated;
indeed, it might have been rifled from the body of an Egyptian
Pharaoh. It consisted of a linen robe that seemed to be twisted about
him, which was broidered at the edges with faded purple, a tall and
battered linen headdress shaped like the lower half of a soda-water
bottle reversed and coming to a point, a leather apron narrow at the
top but broadening towards the knees, also broidered, and sandals of
the same material.

I stared at him amazed, wondering whether he belonged to some people
unknown to me, or was another of Zikali's illusions, and so did Hans,
for his muddy little eyes nearly fell out of his head and he asked me
in a whisper,

"Is he a man, Baas, or a spirit?"

For the rest the stranger wore a plain torque or necklet apparently of
gold, and about him was girdled a cross-hilted sword with an ivory
handle and a red sheath.

For a while this remarkable person stood before us, his hands folded
and his head bent in a humble fashion, though it was really I who
should have been humble, owing to the physical contrast between us.
Apparently he did not think it proper to speak first, while Zikali
squatted there grimly, not helping me at all. At last, seeing that
something must be done, I rose from the stool upon which I was seated
and held out my hand. After a moment's hesitation the splendid
stranger took it, but not to shake in the usual fashion, for he bent
his head and gently touched my fingers with his lips, as though he
were a French courtier and I a pretty lady. I bowed again with the
best grace I could command, then putting my hand in my trouser pocket,
said, "How do you do?" and as he did not seem to understand, repeated
it in the Zulu word, "/Sakubona/." This also failing, I greeted him in
the name of the Prophet in my best Arabic.

Here I struck oil, as an American friend of mine named Brother John
used to say, for he replied in the same tongue, or something like it.
Speaking in a soft and pleasing voice, but without alluding to the
Prophet, he addressed me as "Great Lord Macumazahn, whose fame and
prowess echo across the earth," and a lot of other nonsense, with
which I could see that Zikali had stuffed him, that may be omitted.

"Thank you," I cut in, "thank you, Mr. ----?" and I paused.

"My name is Issicore," he said.

"And a very nice name, too, though I never heard one like it," I
replied. "Well, Issicore, what can I do for you?" An inadequate
remark, I admit, but I wanted to come to the facts.

"Everything," he answered fervently, pressing his hands to his breast.
"You can save from death a most beautiful lady who will love you."

"Will she?" I exclaimed. "Then I will have nothing to do with that
business, which always leads to trouble."

Here Zikali broke in for the first time, speaking very slowly to
Issicore in Zulu, which I remembered he said he had been teaching him,
and saying,

"The Lord Macumazahn is already full of woman's love and has no room
for more. Speak not to him of love, O Issicore, lest you should anger
the ghost of one who haunts this spot, a certain royal Mameena whom
once he knew too well."

Now I turned upon Zikali, promising to give him a piece of my mind,
when Issicore, smiling a little, repeated,

"Who will love you--as a brother."

"That's better," I said, "though I don't know that I want to take on a
sister at my time of life, but I suppose you mean that she will be
much obliged?"

"That is so, O Lord. Also the reward will be great."

"Ah!" I replied, really interested. "Now be so good as to tell me
exactly what you want."

Well, to cut a long story short, with variations he repeated Zikali's
tale. I was to travel to his remote land, bring about the destruction
of a nebulous monster, or fetish, or system of religion, and in
payment to be given as many diamonds as I could carry.

"But why can't you get rid of your own devil?" I asked. "You look a
warrior and are big and strong."

"Lord," he replied gently, spreading out his hands in an appealing
fashion, "I am strong and I trust that I am brave, but it cannot be.
No man of my people can prevail against the god of my people, if so he
may be called. Even to revile him openly would bring a curse upon us;
moreover, his priests would murder us----"

"So he has priests?" I interrupted.

"Yes, Lord, the god has priests sworn to his service, evil men as he
is evil. O Lord, come, I beseech you, and save Sabeela the beautiful."

"Why are you so interested in this lady?" I asked.

"Lord, because she loves me--no