“Yes, O Macumazahn, you may be mistaken or—­you may not.  It matters nothing.  But what of this message of yours?”

“It came at the end of a long story, O Bulalio.  But since you seek to know, these were the words of it, so nearly as I can remember them.”

Then sentence by sentence I repeated to him all that Zikali had said to me when he called me back after bidding me farewell, which doubtless he did because he wished to cut his message more deeply into the tablets of my mind.

Umslopogaas listened to every syllable with a curious intentness, and then asked me to repeat it all again, which I did.

“Lousta!  Monazi!” he said slowly.  “Well, you heard those names to-day, did you not, White Man?  And you heard certain things from the lips of this Monazi who was angry, that give colour to that talk of the Opener-of-Roads.  It seems to me,” he added, glancing about him and speaking in a low voice, “that what I suspected is true and that without doubt I am betrayed.”

“I do not understand,” I replied indifferently.  “All this talk is dark to me, as is the message of the Opener-of-Roads, or rather its meaning.  By whom and about what are you betrayed?”

“Let that snake sleep.  Do not kick it with your foot.  Suffice it you to know that my head hangs upon this matter; that I am a rat in a forked stick, and if the stick is pressed on by a heavy hand, then where is the rat?”

“Where all rats go, I suppose, that is, unless they are wise rats that bite the hand which holds the stick before it is pressed down.”

“What is the rest of this story of yours, Macumazahn, which was told before the Opener-of-Roads gave you that message?  Does it please you to repeat it to me that I may judge of it with my ears?”

“Certainly,” I answered, “on one condition, that what the ears hear, the heart shall keep to itself alone.”

Umslopogaas stooped and laid his hand upon the broad blade of the weapon beside him, saying,

“By the Axe I swear it.  If I break the oath be the Axe my doom.”

Then I told him the tale, as I have set it down already, thinking to myself that of it he would understand little, being but a wild warrior-man.  As it chanced, however, I was mistaken, for he seemed to understand a great deal, perchance because such primitive natures are in closer touch with high and secret things than we imagine; perchance for other reasons with which I became acquainted later.

“It stands thus,” he said when I had finished, “or so I think.  You, Macumazahn, seek certain women who are dead to learn whether they still live, or are really dead, but so far have failed to find them.  Still seeking, you asked the counsel of Zikali, Opener-of-Roads, he who among other titles is also called ‘Home of Spirits.’  He answered that he could not satisfy your heart because this tree was too tall for him to climb, but that far to the north there lives a certain white witch who has powers greater than his, being able to fly to the top of any tree, and to this white witch he bade you go.  Have I the story right thus far?”