"If Sokala took Wasonga, his daughter, into the forest near to The Tree and slew her, his daughters would become sons and he would grow well." And the other monkey nodded. As they talked, Sokala recognized the truth of all that they had said. He wondered that he had never thought of the matter before in this way. All night long he lay thinking--thinking--long after the fires had died down to a full red glow amidst white ashes, and the monkeys had vanished. In the cold dawn his people found him sitting on the side of the bed, and marvelled that he should have lived the night through. "Send me Wasonga, my daughter," he said, and they brought a sleepy girl of fourteen, tall, straight, and wholly reluctant. "We go a journey," said Sokala, and took from beneath his bed his wicker shield and his sharp-edged throwing-spear. "Sokala hunts," said the people of the village significantly, and they knew that the end was very near, for he had been a great hunter, and men turn in death to the familiar pursuits of life. Three miles on the forest road to the Isisi city, Sokala bade his daughter sit on the ground. Bones had met and was in earnest conversation with the Chief of the Ochori, the _Wiggle_ being tied up at a wooding, when he heard a scream, and saw a girl racing through the wood towards him. Behind her, with the foolish stare on his face which comes to men in the last stages of sleeping sickness, his spear balanced, came Sokala. The girl tumbled in a wailing, choking heap at Bones's feet, and her pursuer checked at the sight of the white man. "I see you, Sokala,"[2] said Bones gently. [Footnote 2: The native equivalent for "Good morning."] "Lord," said the old man, blinking at the officer of the Houssas, "you shall see a wonderful magic when I slay this woman, for my daughters shall be sons, and I shall be a well man." Bones took the spear from his unresisting hand. "I will show you a greater magic, Sokala, for I will give you a little white stone which will melt like salt in your mouth, and you shall sleep." The old man peered from Lieutenant Tibbetts to the King of the Ochori. He watched Bones as he opened his medicine chest and shook out two little white pellets from a bottle marked "Veronal," and accepted them gratefully. "God bless my life," cried Bones, "don't chew 'em, you dear old silly--swallow 'em!" "Lord," said Sokala soberly, "they have a beautiful and a magic taste." Bones sent the frightened girl back to the village, and made the old man sit by a tree. "O Tibbetti," said Bosambo, in admiration, "that was a good palaver. For it is better than the letting of blood, and no one will know that Sokala did not die in his time." Bones looked at him in horror. "Goodness gracious heavens, Bosambo," he gasped, "you don't think I've poisoned him?" "Master," said Bosambo, nodding his head, "he die one time--he not fit for lib--you give um plenty no-good stuff. You be fine Christian feller same like me."