“You asked whom you were to take with you, Macumazahn.  Well, as to this I must make inquiry of those who know.  Man, my medicines!”

From the shadows in the hut behind darted out a tall figure carrying a great spear in one hand and in the other a catskin bag which with a salute he laid down at the feet of his master.  This salute, by the way, was that of a Zulu word which means “Lord” or “Home” of Ghosts.

Zikali groped in the bag and produced from it certain knuckle-bones.

“A common method,” he muttered, “such as every vulgar wizard uses, but one that is quick and, as the matter concerned is small, will serve my turn.  Let us see now, whom you shall take with you, Macumazahn.”

Then he breathed upon the bones, shook them up in his thin hands and with a quick turn of the wrist, threw them into the air.  After this he studied them carefully, where they lay among the ashes which he had raked out of the fire, those that he had used for the making of his map.

“Do you know a man named Umslopogaas, Macumazahn, the chief of a tribe that is called The People of the Axe, whose titles of praise are Bulalio or the Slaughterer, and Woodpecker, the latter from the way he handles his ancient axe?  He is a savage fellow, but one of high blood and higher courage, a great captain in his way, though he will never come to anything, save a glorious death—­in your company, I think, Macumazahn.”  (Here he studied the bones again for a while.) “Yes, I am sure, in your company, though not upon this journey.”

“I have heard of him,” I answered cautiously.  “It is said in the land that he is a son of Chaka, the great king of the Zulus.”

“Is it, Macumazahn?  And is it said also that he was the slayer of Chaka’s brother, Dingaan, also the lover of the fairest woman that the Zulus have ever seen, who was called Nada the Lily?  Unless indeed a certain Mameena, who, I seem to remember, was a friend of yours, may have been even more beautiful?”

“I know nothing of Nada the Lily,” I answered.

“No, no, Mameena, ‘the Waiting Wind,’ has blown over her fame, so why should you know of one who has been dead a long while?  Why also, Macumazahn, do you always bring women into every business?  I begin to believe that although you are so strict in a white man’s fashion, you must be too fond of them, a weakness which makes for ruin to any man.  Well, now, I think that this wolf-man, this axe-man, this warrior, Umslopogaas should be a good fellow to you on your journey to visit the white witch, Queen—­another woman by the way, Macumazahn, and therefore one of whom you should be careful.  Oh! yes, he will come with you—­because of a man called Lousta and a woman named Monazi, a wife of his who hates him and does—­not hate Lousta.  I am almost sure that he will come with you, so do not stop to ask questions about him.”

“Is there anyone else?” I inquired.

Zikali glanced at the bones again, poking them about in the ashes with his toe, then replied with a yawn,