The latter was a man just past middle age, with a quiet and far from unpleasing cast of features. He was not a chief, but had a reputation for shrewdness and foresight beyond that of many an accredited leader. "Ha, Vudana! Vudana, the wizard!" cried Ngcenika mockingly. "Vudana, who did not believe in the efficacy of my magic. Vudana, who pretended to manufacture `charms' as effective as mine. Vudana, whose poor attempts at magic have been effective to destroy mine in the case of all who believed in them. Call the names of those who fell," she cried, addressing the crowd. "They are all believers in Vudana, not in me! Where are they now? Ask the Amanglezi--even the Amafengu, before whose bullets they fell. Ask the jackal and the vulture, who have picked their bones. Ask Mfulini, the son of Mapute, whose weapon was turned by the magic of the white man! Was he a believer in Vudana's `charms'?" she added in a menacing voice, rolling her eyes around. "He was not," shouted the warrior named, springing forward. "Where is the man who bewitched my broad _umkonto_. Let him confess and say how he did it." "It is well, Mfulini," said the witch-doctress grimly, knowing that the other trembled for his personal safety now that she had dexterously turned suspicion upon him. "Thou shall be the man to make him confess." "I have nothing to confess," said Vudana. He lay on his bark, held powerless by several men while waiting for a _reim_ to be brought wherewith to bind him. He knew that he was doomed--doomed not merely to death, but to one of the differing forms of frightful torment meted out to those accused of his offence. He knew moreover that whether he accused himself or not the result would be the same, and a warrior light blazed from his eyes as he replied. "If the Great Chief wants my cattle, my possessions, they are his; let him take them. If he wants my life, it too is his; let him take it. But I will not accuse myself of that which I have never committed." If Kreli had heard this appeal he made no sign. Witchcraft was an offence--theoretically at any rate--outside the secular province. "Smelling out" was a good old custom which had its uses, and one not lightly to be interfered with. It was doubtful, however, whether he did hear, for a shout of execration, led by the witch-doctress, drowned the victim's words. "He will not confess! _Au_! Where are the hot stones? To the fire! To the fire!" roared the crowd. The witch-doctress uttered a fiendish laugh. "No. To the ants!" she cried. "_Ewa! Ewa_! To the ants!" they echoed. "Bring him along. _Hau_! The ants are hungry!" A noosed _reim_ was thrown round the doomed man's neck, and another made fast to each of his wrists, and thus, with the whole crowd surging and yelling around him, he was dragged into the adjoining forest.