“That is plainer to me,” she said quickly.  “It must be so, for the chief loves Ngonyama.”

“Yes; that must be the reason.  It lifts a load off my mind, mother.”

“Ow aye I did not like to see your face clouded; and now you will make medicine for me?”

“I will; bat there are a few things I require.  I am young at this work, mother, and cannot do without all the aids.”

“Oh ay, I know,” and she nodded her head with a fierce look in her eyes.  “The blood of a man, the heart of a kid, and the tongue of a crocodile.”

“No, no; a calabash of fat and a little wax.  Only that.”

“Your medicine is not like mine,” she said musingly; “but I have it in my mind now that the good white man used much fat in his medicine.”

She went into her hut, and returned presently with a calabash filled with fat and a square of wax.

“And ye will build fast canoes?”

“We will do great things, mother,” said Compton, taking the things.  “But it is not well that people should pry in upon one who is making medicine.  He must have quiet.”

“Wow!  No one shall pass your house in the rocks, O wizard of mine.”

He hurried up to the cave, passing the reed patch on his way to cut several stout stems, and began without delay his preparations for making candles.  While the fat and wax were melting in a couple of “billies,” he cut down the canes into sections of about six inches each, and buried them on end with the mouth up in soft ground near the bath, with a length of stout cord strung down the centre of each tube, and secured by a cross-piece.  When the stuff had melted, he filled up the moulds, twelve in all, and left them to cool off.  Then taking a stout cane left over, he cut away one of the joints, leaving a socket, thus converting it into a very handy candle-stick.  Next he made up a parcel of food and medicine, carefully oiled his rifle, to protect it against the damp underground, and then went off up to the gorge to have a last look for his friends.

The warriors were buzzing about the barricade, evidently in a state of great excitement, and Compton saw the cause of this in the person of a solitary man ascending the slope from the direction of the pool.

“It is the chief’s runner,” said the men as the man came plainly into view.

Up he came, breasting the steep ascent with a look behind at frequent intervals as if he feared pursuit, and when he reached the wall, he drew a great breath of relief.

“Mawoh!” he grunted.  “I saw the dead water heave, and there was a laugh from nowhere.”

“What message?” asked one of the headmen.

“It is for Ngonyama,” said the runner.

The headman fell back and looked at Compton, who then stepped forward.

“Give the message to me.”

“Wow!  This, then, is the chief’s word.  ’Say to Ngonyama, the great white one, that the enemy will come against the valley up from the dead water.  Ngonyama will let them advance until they are in the jaws of the rocks.  Then will Muata, the black one, fall on the rear and eat them up.’  So said the chief.”