In the middle of the night Abiboo, who, in addition to being Sanders' servant, was a sergeant of the Houssas, came to Sanders' tent, and the Commissioner jumped out of bed and mechanically reached for his Express. "Leopards?" he asked briefly. "Master," said Sergeant Abiboo, "it is the woman M'Lino--she is a witch." "Sergeant," said the exasperated Sanders, "if you wake me up in the middle of the night with that sort of talk, I will break your infernal head." "Be that as it may, master," said the sergeant stolidly, "she is a witch, for she has talked with my men and done many wonderful things--such as causing them to behold their children and far-away scenes." "Have I an escort of babies?" asked Sanders despairingly. "I wish," he went on, with quiet savageness, "I had chosen Kroomen or Bushmen"--the sergeant winced--"or the mad people of the Isisi River, before I took a half-company of the King's Houssas." The sergeant gulped down the insult, saying nothing. "Bring the woman to me," said Sanders. He scrambled into his clothing, and lit his tent lantern. After a while he heard the pattering of bare feet, and the girl came into his tent, and regarded him quietly. "M'Lino," said Sanders, "I told you that you were not to speak with my men." "Lord," she said, "they spoke with me first." "Is this true?" The sergeant at the tent door nodded. "Tembeli, the son of Sekambano, spoke with her, thus disobeying orders, and the other men followed," he said. "Bushmen by gad!" fumed Sanders. "You will take Tembeli, the son of Sekambano, tie him to a tree, and give him twenty lashes." The sergeant saluted, produced a tawdry little notebook, all brass binding and gold edges, and made a laborious note. "As for you," said Sanders to the woman, "you drop your damned bush-mesmerism, or I'll treat you in the same way--_alaki_?" "Yes, lord," she said meekly, and departed. Two Houssas tied Tembeli to a tree, and the sergeant gave him twenty-one with a pliable hippo-hide--the extra one being the sergeant's perquisite. In the morning the sergeant reported that Tembeli had died in the night, and Sanders worried horribly. "It isn't the flogging," he said; "he has had the _chicotte_ before." "It is the woman," said the sergeant wisely. "She is a witch; I foresaw this when she joined the column." They buried Tembeli, the son of Sekambano, and Sanders wrote three reports of the circumstances of the death, each of which he tore up. Then he marched on. That night the column halted near a village, and Sanders sent the woman, under escort, to the chief, with orders to see her safely to the Sangar River. In half an hour she returned, with the escort, and Sergeant Abiboo explained the circumstances. "The chief will not take her in, being afraid." "Afraid?" Sanders spluttered in his wrath; "Afraid? What is he afraid of?" "Her devilry," said the sergeant; "the _lo-koli_ has told him the story of Tebeki, and he will not have her."