'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir WarMitford, Bertram
History
'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir War
Mitford, Bertram
South Africa -- History -- Frontier Wars, 1811-1878 -- Fiction
The watchers looked at each other. These last words, coupled with the
act of throwing down the food, seemed to point to the speedy conclusion
of the visit. They could hear the miserable victim mumbling and
crunching what sounded like literally bones, and growling like a dog.
But Hlangani went on.
"Wouldst thou not rather have gone to feed the black ants, or have died
the death of the red-hot stones, Umlilwane? Thou wouldst be at rest
now. And now thou hast only just begun to live--alone in the darkness--
alone with the serpents--a man whose mind is gone. Thou wilt never see
the light of day again. _Whau_! The sun is shining like gold outside.
And thy wife, Umlilwane--thy beautiful wife--tall and graceful, like the
stem of the budding _umbona_ [Maize]--dost thou never think of her? Ha!
There is another who does--another who does. I have seen him--I have
seen them both--him and thy beautiful wife--"
Eustace had nudged Josane in such wise as to make that individual
understand that the curtain must be rung down on this scene--and that at
once. Simultaneously the "yap" of a puppy dog burst forth almost
beneath his feet. Its effect upon the pair at the pit's brink was
electric.
"_Yau_!" cried Ngcenika, turning toward the sound. "The little dog has
followed me in after all. Ah, the little brute. I will make him taste
the stick!"
"Or throw him down to Umlilwane," laughed her companion. "He will do
for him to play with, two dogs together. _Mawo_!"
Again the "yap" was heard, now several times in rapid succession. So
perfect was the imitation that the watchers themselves were for a moment
taken in.
"_Iza, inja! Injane, izapa_!" ["Come, dog! Little dog--come here!"]
cried the witch-doctress coaxingly, advancing into the lateral gallery,
holding her lantern in front of her. Josane, with his mouth to the
ground was emitting a perfect chorus of yaps.
"Now," he whispered, under cover of the echoes produced, as the width of
the gallery left a clear chance at Hlangani, without endangering the
witch-doctress. "Remember--the female beast, Ngcenika, is for me.
Shoot Hlangani--_Now_!"
Scarce had the word left his mouth than the shots crashed forth
simultaneously.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX.
THE END OF THE WITCH-DOCTRESS.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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