“Now’s your time,” I whispered.

Up went the rifle.

Bang! thud! and the ox was kicking on his back, shot in the ribs.  The semi-hollow bullet had done its work well, and a sigh of astonishment went up from the assembled thousands.

I turned round coolly—­

“Have I lied, O king?”

“Nay, white man, it is the truth,” was the somewhat awed answer.

“Listen, Twala,” I went on.  “Thou hast seen.  Now know we come in peace, not in war.  See,” and I held up the Winchester repeater; “here is a hollow staff that shall enable thee to kill even as we kill, only I lay this charm upon it, thou shalt kill no man with it.  If thou liftest it against a man, it shall kill thee.  Stay, I will show thee.  Bid a soldier step forty paces and place the shaft of a spear in the ground so that the flat blade looks towards us.”

In a few seconds it was done.

“Now, see, I will break yonder spear.”

Taking a careful sight I fired.  The bullet struck the flat of the spear, and shattered the blade into fragments.

Again the sigh of astonishment went up.

“Now, Twala, we give this magic tube to thee, and by-and-by I will show thee how to use it; but beware how thou turnest the magic of the Stars against a man of earth,” and I handed him the rifle.

The king took it very gingerly, and laid it down at his feet.  As he did so I observed the wizened monkey-like figure creeping from the shadow of the hut.  It crept on all fours, but when it reached the place where the king sat it rose upon its feet, and throwing the furry covering from its face, revealed a most extraordinary and weird countenance.  Apparently it was that of a woman of great age so shrunken that in size it seemed no larger than the face of a year-old child, although made up of a number of deep and yellow wrinkles.  Set in these wrinkles was a sunken slit, that represented the mouth, beneath which the chin curved outwards to a point.  There was no nose to speak of; indeed, the visage might have been taken for that of a sun-dried corpse had it not been for a pair of large black eyes, still full of fire and intelligence, which gleamed and played under the snow-white eyebrows, and the projecting parchment-coloured skull, like jewels in a charnel-house.  As for the head itself, it was perfectly bare, and yellow in hue, while its wrinkled scalp moved and contracted like the hood of a cobra.

The figure to which this fearful countenance belonged, a countenance so fearful indeed that it caused a shiver of fear to pass through us as we gazed on it, stood still for a moment.  Then suddenly it projected a skinny claw armed with nails nearly an inch long, and laying it on the shoulder of Twala the king, began to speak in a thin and piercing voice—­

“Listen, O king!  Listen, O warriors!  Listen, O mountains and plains and rivers, home of the Kukuana race!  Listen, O skies and sun, O rain and storm and mist!  Listen, O men and women, O youths and maidens, and O ye babes unborn!  Listen, all things that live and must die!  Listen, all dead things that shall live again—­again to die!  Listen, the spirit of life is in me and I prophesy.  I prophesy!  I prophesy!”