"Then you have a double-barrelled sphere of usefulness, Father. But-- how on earth did you get up among Madula's people? Why, the whole country is in a blaze." "I was called to see a poor white man who was dying. He was a sort of a trader among them, and they were friendly with him, and protected him when the rising began. He sent for me, assuring me that I should be safeguarded until I was back in any township or post I should elect." "And you put your head into a hornet's nest on that slender assurance?" The other smiled. "Why, yes; it is part of my commission. Would you shrink from going to the rescue of someone, Mr Lamont, because the odds were largely against you?" It was Lamont's turn to smile now, and that grimly, remembering the odds that had been against him in `going to the rescue of someone.' "The poor man died, but I was just in time," went on the priest. "Then I stayed on and doctored some of the people who were suffering from ordinary ailments, and indeed from wounds. As for danger, they would not have harmed me." "No, not if you made yourself useful in that line. I recollect at Zwabeka's that memorable time, I boomed you sky high as a tremendous _isanusi_, but they wouldn't more than half believe it then." Father Mathias laughed, then, going outside to where he had left his horse, he detached the saddlebag, and returned. "I have not so much luggage as the last time we met--but I have a useful medicine chest here. I shall give you something to reduce that fever, then I shall attend to the leg. You have let it fall into a very sore state. The wonder is, it is not one great veldt sore." While being thus tended with deft surgical skill, Lamont proceeded to narrate all that had befallen within his own experience of the rising. He kept the plum of his news until the last. "Why, then, I congratulate you heartily, Mr Lamont," said the priest. "You are indeed fortunate." "I quite agree, and now I am wondering when old Zwabeka is going to keep his word, and turn us loose out of this. You can imagine how I am chafing over it." Father Mathias smiled to himself, as he contrasted the tense feverish earnestness of his friend now, with the cool, impassive, utterly indifferent demeanour that had characterised him on the last occasion of their meeting. Suddenly a dismal, long-drawn, nasal sound beneath, interrupted them. A number of dark figures were crossing the hollow in a kind of dance, wailing forth their abominable chant. "It's those infernal Abantwana Mlimo," said Lamont angrily. "The brutes have been agitating to get me into their hands to cut my throat, or worse, all the time. Stirring up the crowd too. If we don't get away from here soon, they may carry things their own way."