The sun had risen in all its splendour, the smoke from the many fires curling spirally up into the air, for there was hardly the faintest breeze. Every thing betokened the heat of an African day. Under the shadow of their tree sat the two Europeans, their rifles leaning against its trunk. Luji was near, playing with the baboon, which was chattering and making hideous faces; the missionary busily employed taking notes of the journey, and Hughes skinning carefully the caracal he had that morning shot. Things seemed to have quieted down in the kraal, and the excitement to have partially at least died away. Not knowing whether they were to consider themselves prisoners or not, though the guard had not resumed their post, and thinking if they left the camp the act might be wrongly construed by Umhleswa, the white men remained where they were. "What is the matter with the Matabele?" asked Hughes, as he raised his eyes and saw Masheesh coming down among the huts in a manner very different from his usual stately pace. "We shall soon know the cause; see how the muscles of his black face are working, and listen to the shouts of the Amatongas behind him. Well, Masheesh, what's wrong?" asked Wyzinski, looking at him, with his pencil and note book in his hand. "Sgalam is dead!" replied the Matabele, in an excited tone. "And who the deuce is Sgalam?" asked the missionary, calmly bending his head once more over his work. "The chief who spoke so bitterly against the white men; he who threatened to denounce Umhleswa if they were not put to death; refusing to hear the words of Mozelkatse, and who was threatened by Luji with death." "Well, a chief has departed from among his people, and the Amatonga have lost a brave; but what then?" "The evil eye has done it. The white men have bewitched their enemy, and he is dead." The full danger of the situation dawned on the missionary's mind as Masheesh said this, and turning to Hughes, he told what had passed. The latter only laughed. "Since we have been in Africa," he replied, "I have not seen one instance of violence or bloodthirstiness. A more gentle race I never met with. Why it is the custom even among the warriors who have shed blood in battle, to consider themselves unclean, and a native who has so much as touched a dead body is thought so. What is there to fear?" "The whole native population of South Africa is superstitious, and these Amatongas are a low caste tribe, more superstitious than most. You heard Umhleswa ask about the rain?" "Yes, I know he did." "Well, not only have they their rain makers, but their sorcerers; and they believe firmly in witches, ghouls, the evil eye, and vampires. They will kill all their cattle on the order of one of these sorcerers, and starve by hundreds."