"_Ho, Inyoka 'mnyama! Nkos' inyoka! Inyoka-ka-Matyobane! Ho, Inyoka yise wezulu! Bayete_!" [See Note 2.] Strophe by strophe, in a sort of antiphonal fashion, the two old indunas continued this weird litany of the Snake. Then they changed to every kind of other title of _sibonga_, but always returning to the subject of the serpent. But the strange part of it to the human listener, was the calming effect it seemed to have upon the black horror, then but a few yards off--for the brute quieted down more and more as the voices outside were raised higher. What on earth could be the reason, thought Blachland? There was an idea abroad that reptiles were susceptible to music, but even if such were the case, this monotonous unvarying intonation, never exceeding three notes, was not music. Could it be that in reality the spirit of the dead King was transmigrated into that serpent form? and again he recalled old Pemberton's rough and ready words:--"There's mighty rum things happen you can't explain nor scare up any sort of reason for." What if this were one of them? And with the idea, and aided by time and place, a kind of superstitious dread began to steal over him with paralysing effect. The white skull, staring at him in the semi-gloom, seemed to take on a fell and menacing expression, and the fleshless face to frown; and beyond it the gliding restless heave of the glistening coils, its terrible serpent guardian. The chant continued--on and on--now falling, then rising, with renewed attributes to the spirit of the mighty dead. The two old indunas were walking to and fro now, and it seemed that each was striving to outdo the other in inventing fresh titles of praise. And what of the hidden gold? Not for all the wealth this world could produce would Blachland have meddled further with the mysteries of this gruesome tomb. His sole aspiration now was for an opportunity of getting outside of it, and slipping away in safety. Of this, however, there seemed but small prospect. Hours seemed to have gone by, and yet these two indefatigable old men showed no sign of bringing their loyal, if posthumous, performance to a close. Then a change came over the aspect of affairs, but was it a change for the better? A party of warriors had appeared a little way behind them. They advanced to the edge of the platform of rock and soil whereon the two indunas were walking up and down--then, at a sign from these, drew nearer. Their assegais flashed in the sunlight: the shiny faces of their hide shields, too, caught the gleam. Then all weapons were let fall as with right hand upraised the new comers with one voice uttered aloud the salute royal:-- "Kumalo!"