“Why do you wear that pretty likeness of the Great One yonder over your heart, as I have known you do with things that belonged to women in past days, Baas?  Do you know that it is Zikali’s Great Medicine, nothing less, as everyone does throughout the land?  When Zikali sends an order far away, he always sends that image with it, for then he who receives the order knows that he must obey or die.  Also the messenger knows that he will come to no harm if he does not take it off, because, Baas, the image is Zikali himself, and Zikali is the image.  They are one and the same.  Also it is the image of his father’s father’s father—­or so he says.”

“That is an odd story,” I said.

Then I told Hans as much as I thought advisable of how this horrid little talisman came into my possession.

Hans nodded without showing any surprise.

“So we are going on a long journey,” he said.  “Well, I thought it was time that we did something more than wander about these tame countries selling blankets to stinking old women and so forth, Baas.  Moreover, Zikali does not wish that you should come to harm, doubtless because he does wish to make use of you afterwards—­oh! it’s safe to talk now when that spirit is away looking for another snake.  What were you doing with the Great Medicine, Baas, when the ’mamba attacked you?”

“Taking it off to throw it into the pool, Hans, as I do not like the thing.  I tried twice and each time the immamba appeared.”

“Of course it appeared, Baas, and what is more, if you had taken that Medicine off and thrown it away you would have disappeared, since the ’mamba would have killed you.  Zikali wanted to show you that, Baas, and that is why he set the snake at you.”

“You are a superstitious old fool, Hans.”

“Yes, Baas, but my father knew all about that Great Medicine before me, for he was a bit of a doctor, and so does every wizard and witch for a thousand miles or more.  I tell you, Baas, it is known by all though no one ever talks about it, no, not even the king himself.  Baas, speaking to you, not with the voice of Hans the old drunkard, but with that of the Predikant, your reverend father, who made so good a Christian of me and who tells me to do so from up in Heaven where the hot fires are which the wood feeds of itself, I beg you not to try to throw away the Medicine again, or if you wish to do so, to leave me behind on this journey.  For you see, Baas, although I am now so good, almost like one of those angels with the pretty goose’s wings in the pictures, I feel that I should like to grow a little better before I go to the Place of Fires to make report to your reverend father, the Predikant.”

Thinking of how horrified my dear father would be if he could hear all this string of ridiculous nonsense and learn the result of his moral and religious lessons on raw Hottentot material, I burst out laughing.  But Hans went on as gravely as a judge,