“If I am to be your slave,” I managed to say, “it would be a pity to beat me so hard. You would get no more work out of me.” ’Mwanga grinned wickedly. “You are my slave for a day and a night. After that we kill you—slowly. You will burn till your legs fall off and your knees are on the ground, and then you will be chopped small with knives.” Thank God, my courage and common sense were coming back to me. “What happens to me to-morrow,” I said, “is the Inkulu’s business, not yours. I am his prisoner. But if you lift your hand on me to-day so as to draw one drop of blood the Inkulu will make short work of you. The vow is upon you, and if you break it you know what happens.” And I repeated, in a fair imitation of the priest’s voice, the terrible curse he had pronounced in the cave. You should have seen the change in that cur’s face. I had guessed he was a coward, as he was most certainly a bully, and now I knew it. He shivered, and drew his hand over his eyes. “Nay, Baas,” he pleaded, “it was but a joke. No harm shall come on you to-day. But tomorrow—” and his ugly face grew more cheerful. “To-morrow we shall see what we shall see,” I said stoically, and a loud drum-beat sounded through the camp. It was the signal for moving, for in the east a thin pale line of gold was beginning to show over the trees. The bonds at my knees and ankles were cut, and I was bundled on to the back of a horse. Then my feet were strapped firmly below its belly. The bridle of my beast was tied to ’Mwanga’s, so that there was little chance of escape even if I had been unshackled. My thoughts were very gloomy. So far all had happened as I planned, but I seemed to have lost my nerve, and I could not believe in my rescue at the Letaba, while I thought of Inanda’s Kraal with sheer horror. Last night I had looked into the heart of darkness, and the sight had terrified me. What part should I play in the great purification? Most likely that of the Biblical scapegoat. But the dolour of my mind was surpassed by the discomfort of my body. I was broken with pains and weariness, and I had a desperate headache. Also, before we had gone a mile, I began to think that I should split in two. The paces of my beast were uneven, to say the best of it, and the bump-bump was like being on the rack. I remembered that the saints of the Covenant used to journey to prison this way, especially the great Mr Peden, and I wondered how they liked it. When I hear of a man doing a brave deed, I always want to discover whether at the time he was well and comfortable in body. That, I am certain, is the biggest ingredient in courage, and those who plan and execute great deeds in bodily weakness have my homage as truly heroic. For myself, I had not the spirit of a chicken as I jogged along at ’Mwanga’s side. I wished he would begin to insult me, if only to distract my mind, but he kept obstinately silent. He was sulky, and I think rather afraid of me.