The Induna's Wife. Mitford Bertram

sound, too – the savage growling roars as of an infuriated bull – receding further and further from the place whence the death cry had arisen, together with a crashing sound as though a great wind were rushing away further and further up the haunted valley.

      For long did that fearful death-yell ring in my ears, as I stood throughout the night watches, grasping my spear, every moment expecting the onslaught of the thing – for, of course, it would return, where more victims awaited. Then the thought came to me that it only dared attack and slay the unarmed; that at the sight of a warrior like myself, armed and ready for battle, it had retired to vent its rage upon an easier prey; and this thought brought strength and encouragement, for I would find no great difficulty in slaying such. But with the thought came another. The two men of Hlatusa’s band had been slain as easily and mysteriously as the iron-working slaves – slain in broad daylight – and they were well-armed warriors, and men of tried valour. In truth, the undertaking seemed as formidable as ever.

      Even that night came to an end, and the cheerfulness and warmth of the newly-arisen sunbeams put heart even into the two badly-frightened slaves; and, feeling strong in my presence, their fears yielded to curiosity to learn the exact fate of Suru – not that any of us really doubted what that fate had been.

      With spear held ready, and none the less alert because it was day, and the valley was now flooded with the broad light of the sun, I quickly made my way down, followed by Jambúla and the other, to where I had left the slave the night before. It was as I thought. There he lay – dead; crushed and crumpled into a heap of body and limbs. He had tried to run. I could see that by the tracks, but before he had run ten steps the terrible ghost-bull had overtaken him and flung him forward. The great hole made by the entering horn gaped wide between his ribs, and, tearing forward, had half ripped him in two. The grass around was all red and wet with half-congealed blood, and in the midst, imprinted deep and clear as in the muddy earth after rain, two great hoof marks, and those of such a size as to be imprinted by no living animal.

      So now I had seen with my own eyes a victim of the terror of the Red Death, and now I myself must slay this horror. But how to slay a great and terrible ghost – a fearful thing not of this world?

      Chapter Five.

      Gasitye the Wizard

      For long I stood there thinking. I looked at the ground, all red and splashed with blood. I looked at the distorted body of the dead slave and the great gaping wound which had let out the life – the sure and certain mark of the dreaded Red Death – always dealt as it was, in the same part of the body – and for all my thought I could think out no method of finding and slaying this evil thing. Then I thought of the múti– the amulet which Lalusini had hung around my neck. Should I look within it? Her words came back to me. “Seek not to look within until such time as thy wit and the wit of others fail thee.” Yet, had not that time come? I could think of no plan. The monster was not of this world. No weapon ever forged could slay it; still there must be a way. Ha! “the wit of others!” Old Masuka had departed to the land of spirits himself. He might have helped me. Who could those “others” be, of whom my sorceress-wife had spoken while her spirit was away among the spirits of those unseen?

      “Remain here,” I said suddenly, to Jambúla and the other slave. “Remain here, and watch, and stir not from this spot until I return.”

      They made no murmur against this – yet I could see they liked not the order. But I gave no thought to them as I moved forward with my eyes fixed upon the tracks of the retreating monster.

      The bloody imprint of the huge hoofs was plain enough, and to follow these was a work of no difficulty. Soon, however, as the hoofs had become dry, it was not so easy. Remembering the crashing noise I had heard as the thing rushed on its course, I examined the bushes and trees. No leaves or twigs were broken off such as could not but have happened with such a heavy body plunging through them. Then the hoof-marks themselves suddenly ceased, and with that, Nkose, the blood once more seemed to tingle within me, for if the thing had come no further was it not lying close at hand – those fiery eyes perhaps at that very moment watching me – those awful horns even now advancing silent and stealthy to rip and tear through my being? Ha! It seemed to me that this hunting of a terrible ghost was a thing to turn the bravest man into a coward.

      Then as I stood, my hearing strained to its uttermost, my hand gripping my broad spear ready at any rate to fight valiantly for life, and all that life involved, something happened which well-nigh completed the transformation into a coward of a man who had never known fear.

      For now a voice fell upon my ears – a voice low and quavering, yet clear – a voice with a strange and distant sound as though spoken afar off.

      “Ho! fearless one who art now afraid! Ho! valiant leader of armies! Ho! mighty induna of the Great King! Thou art as frightened as a little child. Ha, ha, ha!”

      This last was very nearly true, Nkose– but hearing it said, and the hideous mocking laugh that followed, very nearly turned it into a lie.

      “I know not who speaks,” I growled, “save that by the voice it is a very old man. Were it not so he should learn what it means to name me a coward.”

      “Ha, ha, ha!” screamed the voice again. “Brave words, O holder of the King’s assegai. Why, thy voice shakes almost as much as mine. Come hither – if thou art not afraid.”

      From where the bush grew darkest and thickest the voice seemed to come. I moved cautiously forward, prepared at every step to fall into some trap – to meet with some manifestation of abominable witchcraft. For long did I force my way through the thick growth, but cautiously ever, and at last stood once more in the open. Then astonishment was my lot. Right before me rose a great rock wall. I had reached the base of one of the heights which shut in the hollow.

      “Welcome, Untúswa,” cackled the voice again. “Art thou still afraid?”

      Now, Nkose, I could see nobody; but remembering the Song of the Shield, and how Lalusini had caused it to sound forth from the cliff to hearten us during the battle – she herself being some way off – I was not so much amazed as I might have been, for the voice came right out of the cliff.

      “If thou art not afraid, Untúswa,” it went on, “advance straight, and touch the rock with thy right hand.”

      I liked not this order, but, Nkose, I had ever had to do with magicians, and had dipped somewhat into their art, as I have already shown. Here, I thought, was more sorcery to be looked into, and how should I root out the sorcery of the Red Magic save by the aid of other sorcery? So I advanced boldly, yet warily. And then, indeed, amazement was my lot.

      For, as my right hand touched it, the hard rock moved, shivered. Then a portion of this smooth, unbroken wall seemed to fall inward, leaving a black gaping hole like a doorway, through which a man might enter upright.

      “Ho, ho! Untúswa!” cackled the voice again, now from within the hole. “Welcome, valiant fighter. Enter. Yet, wilt thou not leave thy weapons outside?”

      “Not until I stand once more in the presence of him who sent me do I disarm, O Unknown One. And now, where art thou? for I like better to talk to a man with a voice than to a voice without the man.”

      “And how knowest thou that I am a man, O Fearless One? Yet, enter, weapons and all. Ha! Knowest thou not this voice?”

      Whau! It seemed to me then that my flesh crept indeed, for I did know that voice. Ah, yes, well indeed; and it was the voice of one who had long since sat down in the sleep of death – the voice of old Masuka, the mightiest magician our nation had ever seen.

      Then, indeed, did I enter, for, even though dead, the voice was that of one who had done naught but well by me during life, and I feared not a change the other way now. I entered, and, as I did so, I stood in darkness once more. The rock wall had closed up behind me.

      Now my misgivings returned, for, Nkose, no living man, be he never so brave, can find himself suddenly entombed within the heart of the earth alone, the voice of one who has long been dead talking with him in the black, moist darkness, and not feel some alarm. Again the voice spoke, and this time