I answered that he had.

“Good!  Then Zikali went on to choose you companions for your journey, but two, leaving out the guards or servants.  I, Umhlopekazi, called Bulalio the Slaughterer, called the Woodpecker also, was one of these, and that little yellow monkey of a man whom I saw with you to-day, called Hansi, was the other.  Then you made a mock of Zikali by determining not to visit me, Umhlopekazi, and not to go north to find the great white Queen of whom he had told you, but to return to Natal.  Is that so?”

I said it was.

“Then the rain fell and the winds blew and the rivers rose in wrath so that you could not return to Natal, and after all by chance, or by fate, or by the will of Zikali, the wizard of wizards, you drifted here to the kraal of me, Umhlopekazi, and told me this story.”

“Just so,” I answered.

“Well, White Man, how am I to know that all this is not but a trap for my feet which already seem to feel cords between the toes of both of them?  What token do you bring, O Watcher-by-Night?  How am I to know that the Opener-of-Roads really sent me this message which has been delivered so strangely by one who wished to travel on another path?  The wandering witch-doctor told me that he who came would bear some sign.”

“I can’t say,” I answered, “at least in words.  But,” I added after reflection, “as you ask for a token, perhaps I might be able to show you something that would bring proof to your heart, if there were any secret place——­”

Umslopogaas walked to the gateway of the fence and saw that the sentry was at his post.  Then he walked round the hut casting an eye upon its roof, and muttered to me as he returned.

“Once I was caught thus.  There lived a certain wife of mine who set her ear to the smoke-hole and so brought about the death of many, and among them of herself and of our children.  Enter.  All is safe.  Yet if you talk, speak low.”

So we went into the hut taking the stools with us, and seated ourselves by the fire that burned there on to which Umslopogaas threw chips of resinous wood.

“Now,” he said.

I opened my shirt and by the clear light of the flame showed him the image of Zikali which hung about my neck.  He stared at it, though touch it he would not.  Then he stood up and lifting his great axe, he saluted the image with the word “Makosi!” the salute that is given to great wizards because they are supposed to be the home of many spirits.

“It is the big Medicine, the Medicine itself,” he said, “that which has been known in the land since the time of Senzangacona, the father of the Zulu Royal House, and as it is said, before him.”

“How can that be?” I asked, “seeing that this image represents Zikali, Opener-of-Roads, as an old man, and Senzangacona died many years ago?”

“I do not know,” he answered, “but it is so.  Listen.  There was a certain Mopo, or as some called him, Umbopo, who was Chaka’s body-servant and my foster-father, and he told me that twice this Medicine,” and he pointed to the image, “was sent to Chaka, and that each time the Lion obeyed the message that came with it.  A third time it was sent, but he did not obey the message and then—­where was Chaka?”