“Heralds,” went on Umsuka, “proclaim that the feast of the first-fruits is ended, and my command is that every regiment should seek its quarters, taking with it a double gift of cattle from the king, who has been saved alive by the magic of this white man.  And now, Messenger, farewell, for my head grows weary.  To-morrow I will speak with you.”

Then the king was led away into the royal house, and save those who were quartered in it, the regiments passed one by one through the gates of the kraal, singing their war-songs as they went.  Darkness fell upon the Great Place, and through it parties of men might be seen dragging thence the corpses of those who had fallen in the fight with sticks, or been put to death thereafter by order of the king.

“Messenger,” said Hokosa, bowing before Owen, “be pleased to follow me.”  Then he led him to a little kraal numbering five or six large and beautifully made huts, which stood by itself, within its own fence, at the north end of the Great Place, not far from the house of the king.  In front of the centre hut a fire was burning, and by its light women appeared cleaning out the huts and bringing food and water.

“Here you may rest in safety, Messenger,” said Hokosa, “seeing that night and day a guard from the king’s own regiment will stand before your doors.”

“I do not need them,” answered Owen, “for none can harm me till my hour comes.  I am a stranger here and you are a great man; yet, Hokosa, which of us is the safest this night?”

“Your meaning?” said Hokosa sharply.

“O man!” answered Owen, “when in a certain hour you crept up the valley yonder, and climbing the Tree of Death gathered its poison, went I not with you?  When, before that hour, you sat in yonder hut bargaining with the Prince Hafela—­the death of a king for the price of a girl—­was I not with you?  Nay, threaten me not—­in your own words I say it—­’lay down that assegai, or by my spirit your body shall be thrown to the kites, as that of one who would murder the king’—­and the king’s guest!”

“White Man,” whispered Hokosa throwing down the spear, “how can these things be?  I was alone in the hut with the prince, I was alone beneath the Tree of Doom, and you, as I know well, were beyond the river.  Your spies must be good, White Man.”

“My spirit is my only spy, Hokosa.  My spirit watched you, and from your own lips he learned the secret of the bane and of the antidote.  Hafela mixed the poison as you taught him; I gave the remedy, and saved the king alive.”

Now the knees of Hokosa grew weak beneath him, and he leaned against the fence of the kraal for support.

“I have skill in the art,” he said hoarsely; “but, Messenger, your magic is more than mine, and my life is forfeit to you.  To-morrow morning, you will tell the king all, and to-morrow night I shall hang upon the dreadful Tree.  Well, so be it; I am overmatched at my own trade, and it is best that I should die.  You have plotted well and you have conquered, and to you belong my place and power.”