“The Matabele!  The Matabele are on us!” cried a voice; while other voices shouted, “Fly to your walls!” and yet others, “Kill them!  They are few.”

But the three men marched on unheeding till they stood before Mambo.

“Who are you, and what do you seek?” the old man asked boldly, though the fear that had taken hold of him at the sight of these strangers was evident enough, for his whole body shook.

“Surely you should know, chief of Bambatse,” answered their spokesman with a laugh, “for you have seen the like of us before.  We are the children of Lobengula, the Great Elephant, the King, the Black Bull, the Father of the Amandabele, and we have a message for your ear, little Old Man, which, finding that you leave your gate open, we have walked in to deliver.”

“Speak your message then, envoys of Lobengula, in my ear and in those of my people,” said the Molimo.

“Your people!  Are these all your people?” the spokesman replied contemptuously.  “Why then, what need was there for the indunas of the King to send so large an impi under a great general against you, when a company of lads armed with sticks would have served the turn?  We thought that these were but the sons of your house, the men of your own family, whom you had called together to eat with the white strangers.”

“Close the entrance in the wall,” cried the Molimo, stung to fury by the insult; and a voice answered: 

“Father, it is already done.”

But the Matabele, who should have been frightened, only laughed again, and their spokesman said: 

“See, my brothers, he thinks to trap us who are but three.  Well, kill on, Old Wizard, if you will, but know that if a hand is lifted, this spear of mine goes through your heart, and that the children of Lobengula die hard.  Know also that then the impi which waits not far away will destroy you every one, man and woman, youth and maiden, little ones who hold the hand and infants at the breast; none shall be left—­none at all, to say, ’Here once lived the cowardly Makalanga of Bambatse.’  Nay, be not foolish, but talk softly with us, so that perhaps we may spare your lives.”

Then the three men placed themselves back to back, in such fashion that they faced every way, and could not be smitten down from behind, and waited.

“I do not kill envoys,” said the Molimo, “but if they are foul-mouthed, I throw them out of my walls.  Your message, men of the Amandabele.”

“I hear you.  Hearken now to the word of Lobengula.”

Then the envoy began to speak, using the pronoun I as though it were the Matabele king himself who spoke to his vassal, the Makalanga chief:  “I sent to you last year, you slave, who dare to call yourself Mambo of the Makalanga, demanding a tribute of cattle and women, and warning you that if they did not come, I would take them.  They did not come, but that time I spared you.  Now I send again.  Hand over to my messengers fifty cows and fifty oxen, with herds to drive them, and twelve maidens to be approved by them, or I wipe you out, who have troubled the earth too long, and that before another moon has waned.