Classic Audiobook Collection - Allan's Wife and other Tales by H. Rider Haggard ~ Full Audiobook [adventure]

Episode Date: May 1, 2024

Allan's Wife and other Tales by H. Rider Haggard audiobook. Genre: adventure In 1885, H. Rider Haggard introduced Allan Quatermain, elephant hunter extraordinaire, in his best-selling African adventure novel 'King Solomon's Mines'. Haggard went on to publish twelve Quatermain novels and several novellas and short stories, including the four in this collection. 'Allan's Wife' explains how Quatermain became a hunter early in life and recounts the tragedy of his brief marriage to Stella, his childhood sweetheart. The three shorter tales are hunting yarns narrated by Quatermain as an old man. In 'Hunter Quatermain', Allan is faced with a raging wounded buffalo and in 'A Tale of Three Lions' and 'Long Odds', he takes on no less than seven lions. First published in 1889, this collection was re-published as the twenty-fourth volume of the celebrated Newcastle Forgotten Fantasy Library series in 1980. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 00 (00:03:38) Chapter 01 (00:23:20) Chapter 02 (00:46:47) Chapter 03 (01:14:37) Chapter 04 (01:43:12) Chapter 05 (02:12:47) Chapter 06 (02:46:53) Chapter 07 (03:08:42) Chapter 08 (03:28:27) Chapter 09 (03:48:21) Chapter 10 (04:18:04) Chapter 11 (04:36:21) Chapter 12 (04:58:52) Chapter 13 (05:17:54) Chapter 14 (05:37:21) Chapter 15 (06:20:17) Chapter 16 (06:42:15) Chapter 17 (07:05:57) Chapter 18 (07:35:17) Chapter 19 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Alan's wife, chapter 1, early days. It may be remembered that in the last pages of his diary, written just before his death, Alan Quatermain makes allusion to his long-dead wife, stating that he has written of her fully elsewhere. When his death was known, his papers were handed to myself as his literary executor. Among them I found two manuscripts, of which the following is one. The other is simply a record of events wherein Mr Quatermain was not personally concerned. A Zulu novel, the story of which was told to him by the hero

many years after the tragedy had occurred. But with this we have nothing to do at present. I have often thought, Mr. Quatermain's manuscript begins, that I would set down on paper the events connected with my marriage and the loss of my most dear wife. Many years have now passed to, that event, and to some extent time has softened the old grief, though heaven knows it is still keen enough. On two or three occasions I have even begun the record, once I gave it up because

the writing of it depressed me beyond bearing, once because I was suddenly called away upon a journey, and the third time because a kaffir boy found my manuscripts convenient for lighting the kitchen fire. But now that I am its leisure here in England, I will make a fourth attempt. If I succeed, the story may serve to interest someone in after years when I am dead and gone. Before that, I should not wish it to be published. It is a wild tale enough and suggests some curious reflections. I am the son of a missionary. My father was originally curate in charge of a small parish in Oxfordshire.

He had already been some years married to my dear mother when he went there, and he had four children of whom I was the youngest. I remember faintly the place where we lived. It was an ancient, long grey house, facing the road. There was a very large tree of some sort in the garden. It was hollow, and we children used to play about inside of it and knock knots of wood from the rough bark. We all slept in a kind of attic,

and my mother always came and kissed us when we were in bed. I used to wake up and see her bending over me, a candle in her hand. There was a curious kind of pole projecting from the wall over my bed. Once I was dreadfully frightened because my eldest brother made me hang to it by my hands. That is all I remember about our old home. It has been pulled down long ago, or I would journey there to see it. A little further down the road was a large house with big iron gates to it, and on the top of the gate pillars sat two stone lions which were so hideous that I was afraid of them.

Perhaps this sentiment was prophetic. One could see the house by peeping through the bars of the gates. It was a gloomy-looking place with a tall yew hedge round it. But in summertime, some flowers grew about the sundial in the grass plait. This house was called the hall and Squire Carson lived there. One Christmas, it must have been the Christmas before my father emigrated, or I should not remember it. We children went to a Christmas tree festivity at the hall. There was a great party there, and footmen wearing red waistcoats stood at the door.

In the dining room which was panelled with black oak was the Christmas tree. Squire Carson stood in front of it. He was a tall, dark man, very quiet in his manners, and he was a tall, wore a bunch of seals on his waistcoat. We used to think him old, but as a matter of fact, he was then not more than forty. He had been, as I afterwards learned, a great traveller in his youth, and some six or seven years before this date he married a lady who was half a Spaniard, a papist, my father called her. I can remember her well. She was small and very pretty with a rounded figure, large black eyes and glittering teeth.

She spoke English with a curious accent. I suppose that I must have been a funny child to look at, and I know that my hair stood up on my head then as it does now, for I still have a sketch of myself that my mother made of me, in which this peculiarity is strongly marked. On the occasion of the Christmas tree, I remember that Mrs Carson turned to a tall, foreign-looking gentleman who stood beside her,

and tapping him affectionately on the shoulder with her gold eyeglasses, said, "'Look, cousin, look at that droll little boy with the big brown eyes. His hair is like a, what do you call him, scrubbing brush? Oh, what a droll little boy!' The tall gentleman pulled at his moustache, and taking Mrs. Carson's hand in his, began to smooth my hair down with it, till I heard her whisper, "'Leave go my hand, cousin.

Thomas is looking like, like the thunderstorm. Thomas was the name of Mr. Carson, her husband. After that, I hid myself as well as I could behind a chair, for I was shy and watched little Stella Carson, who was the squire's only child, giving the children presents off the tree. She was dressed as Father Christmas with some soft white stuff around her lovely little face, and she had large dark eyes, which I thought more beautiful, than anything I had ever seen. At last it came to my turn to receive a present. Oddly enough,

considered in the light of future events, it was a large monkey. Stella reached it down from one of the lower boughs of the tree and handed it to me saying, That is my Christmas present to you, little Alan Quatermain. As she did so, her sleeve, which was covered with cotton wool, spangled over with something that Sean

touched one of the tapers and caught fire, how I do not know, and the flame ran up her arm towards her throat. She stood quite still. I suppose that she was paralysed with fear, and the ladies who were near screamed very loud, but did nothing. Then some impulse seized me,

perhaps instinct would be a better word to use, considering my age. I threw myself upon the child, and beating at the fire with my hands, mercifully succeeded in extinguishing it before it really got hold. My wrists were so badly scorched that they had to be wrapped up in wool for a long time afterwards. But with the exception of a single burn upon her throat, Little Stella Carson was not much hurt.

This is all that I remember about the Christmas tree at the hall. What happened afterwards is lost to me. But to this day in my sleep, I sometimes see Little Stella's sweet face, and the stare of terror in her dark eyes as the fire ran up her arm. This, however, is not wonderful, for I had, humanly speaking, saved the life of her who was destined to be my wife. The next event which I can recall clearly is that my mother and three brothers all fell ill of fever, owing, as I afterwards learned,

to the poisoning of our well by some evil-minded person who threw a dead sheep into it. It must have been while they were ill that Squire Carson came one day to the vicarage. The weather was still cold, for there was a fire in the study, and I sat before the fire writing letters on a piece of paper with a pencil, while my father walked up and down the room talking to himself. Afterwards I knew that he was praying for the lives of his wife and children. Presently, a servant came to the door and said that someone wanted to see him. "'It's a squire, sir,' said the maid,

"'and he says he particularly wishes to see you.' "'Very well,' answered my father, wearily. "'And presently, Squire Carson, came in. "'His face was white and haggard, "'and his eyes shone so fiercely that I was afraid of him. "'But give me for intruding on you at such a time, Quatermain,' "'he said in a horse voice. "'But to-morrow, I leave this place for ever,

"'and I wish to speak to you. before I go. Indeed, I must speak to you. Shall I send Alan away? said my father, pointing to me. No, let him bide. He will not understand. Nor indeed did I at the time, but I remembered every word, and in after years their meaning grew on me. First tell me he went on, how are they? And he pointed upwards with his thumb. My wife and two of the boys are beyond hope. My father, answered with a groan. I do not know how it will go with the third. The Lord's will be done. The Lord's will be done, the squire echoed solemnly. And thou, Quatermain, listen, my wife's gone. Gone? My father answered. Who with? With that foreign cousin of hers. It seems from the letter she left

that she always cared for him, not for me. She married me because she thought me a rich English, me lord. "'Now she has run through my property, or most of it, and gone. I don't know where. "'Luckily she did not care to encumber her new career with the child. "'Stella is left to me.' "'That is what comes of marrying a papist, Carson,' said my father. "'That was his fault. He was as good and charitable a man as ever lived, but he was bigoted. "'What are you going to do? Follow her?' "'He laughed bitterly in answer.

"'Follow her,' he said. "'Why should I follow her? "'If I met her, I might kill her, or him, "'or both of them, because of the disgrace "'they have brought upon my child's name. "'No, I never want to look upon her face again. "'I trusted her, I tell you, "'and she has betrayed me.

"'Let her go and find her fate. "'But I am going too. "'I am weary of my life.' "'Surely, Carson, surely,' said my father. father, who do not mean. No, no, not that. Death comes soon enough, but I will leave this civilized world,

which is a lie. We will go right away into the wilds, I and my child, and hide our shame. Where? I do not know where, anywhere, so long as there are no white faces,

no smooth, educated tongs. You are mad, Carson, my father answered. How will you live? How will you educate Stella? Be a man and wear it down. I will be a man, and I will wear it down, but not here, Quatermain.

Education, was not she, that woman who was my wife, was not she highly educated, the cleverest woman in the county forsooth. Too clever for me, Quatermain, too clever by half. No, no, Stella shall be brought up in a different school. If it be possible, she shall forget. get her very name. Goodbye, old friend.

Goodbye for ever. Do not try to find me out. Henceforth I shall be like one dead to you, to you and all I knew. And he was gone. Mad, said my father with a heavy sigh. His trouble has turned his brain, but he will think better of it.

At that moment the nurse came hurrying in and whispered something in his ear. My father's face turned deadly, pale. He clutched at the table to support himself, then staggered from the room. My mother was dying. It was some days afterwards, I do not know exactly how long, that my father took me by the hand and led me upstairs into the big room which had been my mother's bedroom. There she lay, dead in her coffin with flowers in her hand. Along the wall of the room were arranged three little white beds, and on each of the beds lay one of my brothers. They all looked as though they were

asleep, and they all had flowers in their hands. My father told me to kiss them, because I should not see them any more, and I did so, though I was very frightened, I did not know why. Then he took me in his arms and kissed me. The Lord hath given, he said, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. I cried very much and he took me downstairs, and after that I have only a confused memory of men dressed in black, carrying heavy burdens towards the grey churchyard. Next comes a vision of a great ship and wide tossing waters. My father could no longer bear to live in England after the loss that had fallen on him, and made up his mind to emigrate to South Africa. We must have been poor at that time, indeed.

I believe that a large portion of our income went from my father on my mother's death. At any rate, we travelled with the steerage passengers, and the intense discomfort of the journey with the rough ways of our fellow emigrants still remain upon my mind. At last it came to an end, and we reached Africa, which I was not to leave again for many, many years. In those days, civilization had not made any great progress in southern Africa, My father went up the country and became a missionary among the kaffirs, near to where the town of Craddock now stands.

And here I grew to manhood. There were a few boar farmers in the neighbourhood, and gradually a little settlement of whites gathered round our mission station. A drunken Scotch blacksmith and wheelwright was about the most interesting character, who, when he was sober, could quote the Scottish poet Burns and the Ingolds be legends. then recently published, literally by the page. It was from him that I contracted a fondness for the latter amusing writings, which has never left me. Burns I never cared for so much,

probably because of the Scottish dialect which repelled me. What's little education I got was from my father, but I never had much leaning towards books, nor he much time to teach them to me. On the other hand, I was always a keen observer of the ways of men and nature. By the time as I was 20, I could speak Dutch and three or four kaffir dialects perfectly, and I doubt if there was anybody in South Africa who understood native ways of thought and action more completely than I did. Also, I was really a very good

shot and horsemen, and I think, as indeed my subsequent career proves to have been the case, a great deal tougher than the majority of men. Though I was then, as now light and small, all, nothing seemed to tire me. I could bear any amount of exposure and deprivation, and I never met the native who was my master in feats of endurance. Of course, all that is different now, I am speaking of my early manhood. It may be wondered that I did not run absolutely wild in such surroundings, but I was held back from this by my father's society. He was one of the gentlest and most refined men that I ever met, even the most savage kaffir loved him, and his influence was a very good one for me. He used to call himself one of

the world's failures. Would that there were more such failures? Every evening when his work was done, he would take his prayer book, and sitting on the little stoop or veranda of our station, would read the evening psalms to himself. Sometimes there was not light enough for this, but it's made no difference. He knew them all by heart. When he had finished, he would look out across the cultivated lands where the mission cafes had their huts. But I knew it was not these he saw, but rather the Great English Church, and the graves arranged side by side before the U near the Wicket Gate. It was there on the stoop that he died. He had not been well, and one evening I was talking to him, and his mind went back to Oxfordshire.

and my mother. He spoke of her a good deal, saying that she had never been out of his mind for a single day during all those years, and that he rejoiced to think that he was drawing near that land, whither she had gone. Then he asked me if I remembered the night when Squire Carson came into the study at the vicarage, and told him that his wife had run away, and that he was going to change his name and bury himself in some remote land. I answered that I remembered it, I wonder where he went to, said my father, and if he and his daughter Stella are still alive. Well, well, I shall never meet them again, but life is a strange thing, Alan, and you may. If you ever do, give them my kind love. After that I left him.

We had been suffering more than usual from the depredations of the kaffir thieves, who stole our sheep at night, and, as I had done before, and not without success, I determined to watch the kraal and see if I could catch them. Indeed, it was from this habit of mine of watching at night that I first got my native name of Makumazan,

which may be roughly translated as he who sleeps with one eye open. So I took my rifle and rose to go, but he called me to him and kissed me on the forehead saying, God bless you, Alan, I hope that you will think of your old father sometimes, and that you will lead a good and happy life.

I remember that I did not much like his tone at the time, but set it down to an attack of low spirits, to which he grew very subject as the years went on. I went down to the kraal and watched till within an hour of sunrise. Then, as no thieves appeared, returned to the station. As I came near, I was astonished to see a figure sitting in my father's chair. At first I thought it must be a drunken kaffir, then that my father had fallen asleep there,

and so he had, for he was dead. End of part one. Part two of Alan's wife and other tales by H. Ryder Haggard. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Alan's wife, Chapter 2, The Firefight. When I had buried my father and seen a successor installed in his place, for the station was the property of the society, I set to work to carry out a plan which I had long cherished, but been unable to execute, because it would have involved separation from my

father. Put shortly, it was to undertake a trading journey of exploration, right through the countries now known as the Free State and the Transfarl, and as much further north as I could go. It was an adventurous scheme, for though the emigrant's boers had begun to occupy, and positions in these territories, they were still to all practical purposes unexplored. But I was now alone in the world, and it mattered little what became of me. So, driven on by the overmastering love of adventure, which, old as I am, will perhaps still be my cause of death, I determined to undertake the journey. Accordingly, I sold such stock and goods as we had upon the station, reserving only the two best wagons and two spans, and two

spans of oxen. The proceeds I invested in such goods, as were then in fashion, for trading purposes, and in guns and ammunition. The guns would have moved any modern explorer to merriment, but such as they were, I managed to do a good deal of execution with them. One of them was a single-barreled, smooth bore, fitted for percussion caps, a roar, as we called it, which threw a three-ounce ball and was charged with a handful of coarse black powder. Many as the elephants that I killed with that roar, although it generally knocked me backwards when I fired it, which I only did under compulsion.

The best of the lot, perhaps, was a double-barreled number 12 shotgun, but it had flintlocks. Also, there were some old tower muskets which might or might not throw straight at 70 yards. I took six kaffirs with me, and three good horses, which were supposed to be salted, that is, proof against the sickness. Among the kaffirs was an old fellow named Indabazimbi, which, translated, means tongue of iron.

I suppose he got this name from his strident voice and exhaustless eloquence. The man was a great character in his way. He had been a noted witch doctor among a neighbouring tribe, and came to the station under the following circumstances, which, as he plays a considerable part in this history, are perhaps worth recording. Two years before my father's death, I had occasion to search the country round for some lost oxen. After a long and useless quest, it occurred to me that I had better go to the place where the oxen were bred by a kaffir chief, whose name I forget, but whose kraal was about fifty miles from our station.

There I journeyed and found the oxen safe at home. The chief entertained me handsomely, and on the following morning I went to pay my respects to him before leaving, and was somewhat surprised to find a collection of some hundreds of men and women sitting round him, anxiously watching the sky in which the thunder clouds were banking up in a very ominous way. You had better wait to white man, said the chief, and see the rain doctors fight the lightning. I inquired what he meant, and learned that this man, in Dabazimbi, had for some years occupied the position of wizarding chief to the tribe, although he was not a member of it, having been born in the country now known as Zulu Land.

But a son of the chiefs, a man of about 30, had lately set up as a rival in supernatural powers. This irritated in Dabazimbi beyond measure and a quarrel ensued between the two witch doctors that resulted in a challenge to trial by lightning, being given and accepted. These were the conditions. The rivals must await the coming of a serious thunderstorm, no ordinary tempest would serve their turn.

Then, carrying Asagais in their hands, they must take their stand within fifty paces of each other upon a certain patch of ground where the big thunderbolts were observed to strike continually, and by the exercise of their occult powers and invocations to the lightning, but strive to avert death from themselves, and bring it on their rival. The terms of this singular match

had been arranged a month previously, but no storm worthy of the occasion had arisen. Now the local weather prophets believed it to be brewing. I inquired what would happen if neither of the men were struck and was told they must then wait for another storm. If they escaped the second time, however, they would be held to be equal in power and be jointly consulted by the tribe

upon occasions of importance. The prospect of being a spectator of so unusual a sight overcame my desire to be gone, and I accepted the chief's invitation to see it out. Before midday I regretted it, for though the western heavens grew darker and darker, and the still air heralded the coming of the storm, yet it did not come.

By four o'clock, however, it became obvious that it must burst soon, At sunset the old chief said, And in the company of the whole assembly, I moved down to the place of combat. The kraal was built on the top of a hill, and below it, the land sloped gently to the banks of a river,

about half a mile away. On the hither side of the bank was the piece of land that was, the natives said, loved of the lightning. Here the magicians took up their stand, while the spectators grouped themselves on their, hillside, about two hundred yards away, which was, I thought, rather too near to be pleasant. When we had sat there for a while, my curiosity overcame me, and I asked leave of the chief to go down and inspect the arena. He said I might do so at my own risk. I told him that the fire from above

would not hurt white men, and went to find that the spot was a bed of iron ore, thinly covered with grass, which of course accounted for its attracting the lightning from the storms as they travelled along the line of the river. At each end of this ironstone area were placed the combatants, in Dabazimbi facing the east and his rival the west, and before each there burned a little fire made of some scented root. Moreover, they were dressed in all the paraphernalia of their craft, snake skins, fish bladders, and I know not what besides. while round their necks hung circlots of baboon's teeth and bones from human hands. First I went to the western end where the chief son stood.

He was pointing with his assegai towards the advancing storm and invoking in it a voice of great excitement. Come fire and lick up in Dabazimbi. Hear me storm devil! And lick in Dabazimbi with your red tongue. Spit on him with your rain. Whirl him away in. your breath, make him as nothing, melt the marrow in his bones, run into his heart and burn away

the lies, show all the people who is the true witch-finder. Let me not be put to shame in the eyes of this white man." Thus he spoke, or rather chanted, and all the while rubbed his broad chest, for he was a very fine man, with some filthy compound of medicine, or muti. After a while, While, getting tired of his song, I walked across the ironstone to where Indaba Zimbi sat by his fire. He was not chanting at all, but his performance was much more impressive. It consisted in staring at the eastern sky, which was perfectly clear of cloud, and every now and again beckoning at it with his finger, then, turning round to point with the Asagai towards his rival.

For a while I looked at him in silence. He was a curious wizened man, apparently over 50 years of age, with thin hands that looked as tough as wire. His nose was much sharper than his usual among these races, and he had a queer habit of holding his head sideways like a bird when he spoke, which, in addition to the humour that lurked in his eye, gave him a most comical appearance. Another strange thing about him was that he had a single white lock of hair among his black, wool. At last I spoke to him. In Dabazimbi, my friend, I said. You may be a good witch, doctor, but you are certainly a fool. It is no good beckoning at the blue sky, while your enemy is getting a start with the storm. You may be clever, but don't think you know everything, white man,

the old fellow answered in a high cracked voice and with something like a grin. They call you iron tongue, I went on. You had better use. You had better used. use it, or the storm devil won't hear you. The fire from above runs down iron, he answered. So I keep my tongue quiet. Oh, yes, let him curse away. I put him out presently. Look now, white man.

I looked, and in the eastern sky there grew a cloud. At first it was small, though very black, but it gathered with extraordinary rapidity. This was odd enough, but as I had seen the same thing happened before, it did not particularly astonish me. It is by no means unusual in Africa for two thunderstorms to come up at the same time from different points of the compass. You had better get on in Dabazimbi, I said.

The big storm is coming along fast, and will soon eat up that baby of yours, and I pointed to the west. Babies sometimes grow to giants, white man, said Indaba Zimbi, beckoning away vigorously. Look now at my cloud, child. I looked. The eastern storm was spreading itself from earth to sky, and in shape resembled an enormous man. There was its head, its shoulders, and its legs. Yes, it was like a huge giant travelling across the heavens.

The light of the setting sun, escaping from beneath the lower edge of the western storm, shot across the intervening space in a sheet of splendour, and lighting upon the advancing figure of cloud wrapped its middle in hues of glory too wonderful to be described. But beneath and above this glowing belt, his feet and head were black as jet.

Presently, as I watched, an awful flash of light shot from the head of the cloud, circled it about as though with a crown of living fire, and vanished. Ah ha! chuckled old indaba Zimbi, my little boy is putting on his man's ring. And he tapped the gum ring on his own head, which natives assume when they reach a certain age and dignity.

Now, white man, unless you are a bigger wizard than either of us, you had better clear off, for the firefight is about to begin. I thought this sound advice. Good luck go with you, my black uncle, I said. I hope you don't feel the iniquities of a man. misspent life weighing on you at the last. You look after yourself and think of your own sins, young man, he answered with a grim smile, and taking a pinch of snuff while at that very moment, a flash of lightning, I don't know from which storm struck the ground within 30 paces of me.

That was enough for me. I took to my heels, and as I went, I heard old Indaba Zimbi's dry chuckle of amusement. I climbed the hill till I came to where the chief was sitting with his Indunas or headmen and sat down near to him. I looked at the man's face and saw that he was intensely anxious for his son's safety and by no means confident of the young man's powers to resist the magic of Indaba Zimbi. He was talking in a low voice to the Induna next to him. I affected to take no notice and to be concentrating my attention. mention on the novel scene before me, but in those days I had very quick ears and caught the drift of the conversation.

"'Harkon,' the chief was saying, "'if the magic of Indabazimbi prevails against my son, I will endure him no more. Of this I am sure that when he has slain my son, he will slay me also, and make himself chief in my place. I fear Indabazimbi. "'W!' "'Lak one,' answered the indunner. "'Wisards die as dogs die, and once dead, dogs bark no more.'

"'And once dead,' said the chief, "'wisards work no more spells.' "'And he bent and whispered in the Indunas ear, "'looking at the Assegai in his hand as he whispered, "'Good, my father, good,' said the Induner presently. "'It shall be done to-night if the lightning does not do its first.' "'A bad look-out for Olin-Dabazimbi,' I said to myself. They mean to kill him.

Then I thought no more of the matter for a while, the scene before me was too tremendous. The two storms were rapidly rushing together. Between them was a gulf of blue sky, and from time to time, flashes of blinding light passed across this gulf, leaping from cloud to cloud. I remember that they reminded me of the story of the heathen god Jove and his thunderbolts.

The storm that was shaped, like a giant and ringed with the glory of the sinking sun, made an excellent jove, and I am sure that the bolts which leapt from it could not have been surpassed even in mythological times. Oddly enough, as yet the flashes were not followed by thunder. A deadly stillness lay upon the place, the cattle stood silently on the hillside,

even the natives were awed to silence. Dark shadows crept along the buzzer, of the hills. The river to the right and left was hidden in wreaths of cloud, but before us and beyond the combatants, it shone like a line of silver between the narrowing space of open sky. Now the western tempest was scrawled all over with lines of intolerable light, while the inky head of the cloud giant to the east was continually suffused with a white and deadly glow that came and went in pulses, as though a blood of flame was being pumped into it from the heart of the storm.

The silence deepened and deepened. The shadows grew blacker and blacker. Then suddenly, all nature began to moan beneath the breath of an icy wind. On sped the wind, the smooth surface of the river was ruffled by it into little waves. The tall grass bowed low before it, and in its wake came the hissing sound of furious rain. Ah, the storms had met, from each there burst an awful blaze of dazzling flame, and now the hill on which we sat rocked at the noise of the following thunder. The light went out of the sky, darkness fell suddenly on the land, but not for long. Presently, the whole landscape grew vivid in the flashes. It appeared and disappeared. Now everything was visible for miles. Now even the men at my

side vanished in the blackness. The thunder rolled and cracked and peeled like the trump of doom. Whirlwinds tore round, lifting dust and even stones high into the air, and in a low, continuous undertone rose the hiss of the rushing rain. I put my hand before my eyes, to shield them from the terrible glare and looked beneath it towards the lists of ironstone. As Flash followed Flash, from time to time I caught sight of the two wizards.

They were slowly advancing towards one another, each pointing at his foe with the Asagai in his hand. I could see there every movement, and it seemed to me that the chain lightning was striking the ironstone all around them. Suddenly the thunder and lightning ceased for a minute. Everything grew black, and except for the rain, silent. It is over one way or the other, Chief, I called out into the darkness.

Wait, white man, wait, answered the Chief, in a voice thick with anxiety and fear. Hardly were the words out of his mouth when the heavens were lit up again, till they literally seemed to flame. There were the men, not ten paces apart. A great flash fell between them. I saw them stagger beneath the shock. Indabazimbi recovered himself first.

At any rate, when the next flash came, he was standing bolt upright, pointing with his assegai towards his enemy. The chief son was still on his legs, but he was staggering like a drunken man, and the assegai had fallen from his hand. Darkness, then he was. again a flash more fearful, if possible, than any that had gone before.

To me it seemed to come from the east, right over the head of Indabazimbi. At that instant, I saw the chief's sun, wrapped as it were, in the heart of it. Then the thunder pealed, the rain burst over us like a torrent, and I saw no more. The worst of the storm was done, but for a while the darkness was so dense that we could, could not move, nor indeed was I inclined to leave the safety of the hillside, where the lightning was never known to strike, and venture down to the ironstone. Occasionally there still came flashes, but search as we would, we could see no trace of either of the wizards. For my part, I believed that they were both dead.

Now the clouds slowly rolled away down the course of the river, and with them went to the rain, and now the stars shone out in their wake. Let us go and see, said the old chief, rising and shaking the water from his hair. The firefight is ended. Let us go and see who has conquered. I rose and followed him, dripping, as though I had swum a hundred yards with my clothes on,

and after me came all the people of the kraal. We reached the spot. Even in that light I could see where the iron stove, had been split and fused by the thunderbolts. While I was staring about me, I suddenly heard the chief, who was on my right, give a low moan, and saw the people cluster around him. I went up and looked.

There, on the ground, lay the body of his son. It was a dreadful sight. The hair was burnt off his head. The copper rings upon his arms were fused. The assegai handle which lay near was nearly shone. shivered into threads, and when I took hold of his arm, it seemed to me as every bone of it was broken. The men with the chief stood gazing silently, while the women wailed. "'Great is the magic of indaba zimbi,' said a man at length.

The chief turned and struck him a heavy blow with the carry in his hand. "'Great or not thou dog, he shall die,' he cried, and so shalt thou, if thou singest his praises so loudly. I said nothing, but thinking it's probable that in Dabazimbi had shared the fate of his enemy, I went to Luke. But I could see nothing of him, and at length, being thoroughly chilled with the wet, started back to my wagon to change my clothes. On reaching it, I was rather surprised to see a strange kaffir seated on the driving box,

wrapped up in a blanket. Hello, come out of that, I said. The figure on the box slowly unrolled the blanket and with great deliberation took a pinch of snuff. It was a good firefight, white man, was it not? said indaba Zimbi, in his high, cracked voice. But he never had a chance against me, poor boy. He knew nothing about it.

See, White Man, what comes of presumption? in the young. It is sad, very sad, but I made the flashes fly, didn't I? You old humbug, I said, unless you are careful, you will soon learn what comes of presumption in the old, for your chief is after you with an assegai, and it will take all your magic to dodge that. Now you don't say so, said in Dabazimbi, clambering off the wagon with rapidity, and all because of this wretched upstart. There's gratitude for you, white man. I expose him, and they want to kill me. Well, thank you for the hint. We shall meet again before long. And he was gone like a shot, and not too soon, for just then,

some of the chief's men came up to the wagon. On the following morning, I started homewards. The first face I saw on arriving at the station was that of Indaba Zimbi. How do you do, Macomazan, he said, holding his head on one side and nodding his white lock. I hear you are Christians here, and I want to try a new religion. Mine must be a bad one, seeing that my people wanted to kill me for exposing an imposter. End of Part 2. Part 3 of Alan's Wife and Other Tales by H. Rider Haggard. This Librevox recording is in the public.

main. Alan's wife, chapter 3, northwards. I make no apology to myself or to anybody who may happen to read this narrative in future for having set out the manner of my meeting with indaba Zimbi, first because it was curious, and secondly, because he takes some hand in the subsequent events. If that old man was a humbug, he was a very clever one. What amount of truth there was in his pretensions to supernatural powers is not for me to determine, though I may have my own opinion on the subject, but there was no mistake as to the extraordinary influence he exercised over his fellow natives. Also, he quite got round my poor father. At first, the old gentleman declined to have him at the station, for he had a great horror of these Caffio wizards or witch-finders,

but in Dabazimbi persuaded him that he was anxious to investigate the truths of Christianity and challenged him to discussion. The arguments lasted for two years, to the time of my father's death indeed. At the conclusion of each stage, in Dabazimbi would remark, in the words of the Roman governor, almost praying white man, thou persuadest me to become a Christian.

But he never quite became one. Indeed, I do not think he ever meant to. It was to him that my father addressed his letters to a native doubter. This work, which, unfortunately, remains in manuscript, is full of wise saws and learned instances. It ought to be published together with a precy of the doubter's answers, which were verbal. So the talk went on.

If my father had lived, I believe it would be going on now, for both the disputants were quite inexhaustible. Meanwhile, in Dabazimbi was allowed to live in the station on condition that he practised no witchcraft, which my father firmly believed to be a while of the devil. He said that he would not, but for all that, there was never an ox lost or a sudden death, but he was consulted by those interested.

When he had been with us a year, a deputation came to him from the tribe he had left, asking him to return. Things had not gone well with them since he went away, they said, and now the chief, his enemy, was dead. Oldin Dabazimbi listened to them till they had done, and as he listened, raked sand into a little heap with his toes. Then he spoke, pointing to the little heap,

There is your tribe today, he said. Then he lifted his heel and stamped the heap flat. There is your tribe. tribe before three moons are gone, nothing is left of it. You drove me away, I will have no more to do with you, but when you are being killed, think of my words." The messengers went. Three months afterwards, I heard that the whole community had been wiped out by an impi of raiding pondos. When I was at length ready to start upon my expedition, I went to old in Dabazimbi to say goodbye to him, and was rather surprised to find him engaged in rolling up

medicine, assegais, and other sundries in his blankets. Goodbye in Dabazimbi, I said. I am going to trek north. Yes, Makumazan, he answered with his head on one side. And so am I. I want to see that country. We will go together. Will we? I said. Wait till you are asked, you old humbug. You had better ask me then, Makumazan, but if you don't, you will never come back alive. Now that the old chief, my father, is gone to where the storms come from, and he nodded to the sky. I feel myself getting into bad habits again, so last night I just threw up the bones and worked out about your journey. And I can tell you this, that if you don't take me, you will die.

and, what is more, you will lose one who is dearer to you than life in a strange fashion. So just because you gave me that hint a couple of years ago, I made up my mind to come with you. Don't talk stuff to me, I said. Ah, very well, Makumazan, very well. But what happened to my own people six months ago, and what did I tell the messengers would happen? They drove me away, and they had gone. "'If you drive me away, you will soon be gone too,' and he nodded his white lock at me and smiled.

Now I was not more superstitious than other people, but somehow old indaba Zimbi impressed me. Also, I knew his extraordinary influence over every class of native and bethought me that he might be useful in that way. All right, I said, I appoint you witch-finder to the expedition without pay, "'First serve, then ask for wages,' he answered. "'I am glad to see that you have enough imagination,

"'not to be altogether a fool, like most white men, macumazan. "'Yes, yes, it is want of imagination that makes people fools. "'They won't believe what they can't understand. "'You can't understand my prophecies, "'any more than the fool that the kraal could understand "'that I was his master with the... lightning. Well, it is time to check. But if I were you, Macamazan, I should take one wagon, not two. Why, I said, because you will lose your wagons, and it is better to lose one than two.

Oh, nonsense, I said. All right, macumazan, live and learn. And without another word, he walked to the foremost wagon, put his bundle into it, and climbed onto the front seat. So, having bid an affectionate adieu to my white friends, including the old Scotchman who got drunk in honour of the event, had quoted Burns till the tears ran down his face, at length I started, and travelled slowly northwards. For the first three weeks, nothing very particular befell me. Such cafes as we came into contact with were friendly, and game literally swarmed. Nobody living in those parts of South Africa nowadays can have the remotest idea of what the felt was like,

even 30 years ago. Often and often I have crept shivering onto my wagon box just as the sun rose and looked out. At first one would see nothing but a vast field of white mist suffused towards the east by a tremulous golden glow through which the tops of stony copies stood up like gigantic beacons. From the dense mist would come strange sounds,

snorts, gruntings, bellows, and the thunder of countless hooves. Presently, this great curtain would grow thinner, then it would melt, as the smoke from a pipe melts into the air, and for miles on miles the wide-rolling country interspersed with bush, open to the view. but it was not teneteless as it is now,

for as far as the eye could reach, it would be literally black with game. Here to the right might be a herd of Vildebeista that could not number less than two thousand. Some were grazing, some gambled, whisking their white tails into the air, while all round the old bulls stood upon hillocks, sniffing suspiciously at the breeze.

There in front, a thousand yards, away, though to the unpractised eye they looked much closer because of the dazzling clearness of the atmosphere, was a great herd of springbok, trekking along in single file. Ah, they have come to the wagon track and do not like the look of it. What will they do? Go back? Not a bit of it. It is nearly thirty feet wide, but that is nothing to a springbok. See, the first of them bounds into the air like a ball. How beautifully the sun shines. gleams upon his golden hide. He has cleared it,

and the others come after him in numberless succession, all except the fawns who cannot jump so far, and have to scamper over the doubtful path, with a terrified, Ma! What is that yonder, moving above the tops of the mimosa

in the little dell at the foot of the copy? Giraffes, by George, three of them, there will be marrow bones for supper tonight. Hark! The ground shakes behind us, and over the brow of the rise rush a vast herd of Blesbock. On they come at full gallop. Their long heads held low, they look like so many bearded goats.

I thought so. Behind them is a pack of wild dogs. Their fur draggled, their tongues lolling. They are in full cry. The giraffes hear them and are away, rolling round the copy like a ship in a heavy sea. No marrow bones after all. See, the foremost dogs are close on a buck. He has galloped far and is outworn.

One springs at his flank and misses him. The buck gives a kind of groan, Luke's wildly round and sees the wagon. He seems to hesitate a moment, then in his despair, rushes up to it, and falls exhausted among the oxen. The dogs pull up some 30 paces away, panting and snarling.

Now, boy, the gun, no, not the rifle, the shotgun loaded with loopers. Bang, bang! There, my friends, two of you will never hunt book again. No, don't touch the book, for he's come to us for shelter and he shall have it. Ah, how beautiful is nature before man comes to spoil it. Such a sight as this have I seen many a hundred times, and I hope to see it again before I am. die. The first real adventure that befell me on this particular journey was with elephants,

which I will relate because of its curious termination. Just before we crossed the Orange River, we came to a stretch of forestland some 20 miles broad. The night we entered this forest, we camped in a lovely open glade. A few yards ahead, tambuci grass was growing to the height of a man, or rather it had been. Now, with the exception of a few storks here and there, it was crushed quite flat. It was already dusk when we camped, but after the moon got up,

I walked from the fire to see how this had happened. One glance was enough for me. A great herd of elephants had evidently passed over the tall grass not many hours before. The sight of their spoor rejoiced me exceedingly, though I had seen why, wild elephants. At that time I had never shot one.

Moreover, the sight of elephant's spoor to the African hunter is what colour in the pan is to the prospector of gold. It is by ivory that he lives, and to shoot it or trade it is his chief aim in life. My resolution was soon taken,

I would camp the wagons for a while in the forest and start on horseback after the elephants. I communicated my decision to Indaba Zimbi and the other kaffirs. The latter were not to loath, for your kaffir loves hunting, which means plenty of meat and congenial occupation, but indaba Zimbi would express no opinion. I saw him retire to a little fire that he had lit for himself

and go through some mysterious performances with his bones and clay, mixed with ashes, which were watched with the greatest interest. by the other kaffirs. At length he rose, and coming forward informed me that it was all right, and that I did well to go and hunt the elephants, as I should get plenty of ivory, but he advised me to go on foot. I said I should do nothing of the sort, but meant to ride. I am wiser now. This was the first and last time that I ever attempted to hunt elephants on horseback. accordingly we started at dawn, I, in Dabazimbi and three men, the rest I left with the wagons.

I was on horseback, and so was my driver, a good rider and a skillful shot for a kaffir, but in Dabazimbi and the others walked. From dawn till midday we followed the trail of the herd, which was as plain as a high road. Then we off-saddled to let the horses rest and feed, and about three o'clock. clock started on again. Another hour or so passed, and still there was no sign of elephants. Evidently the herd had travelled fast and far, and I began to think that we should have to give it up, when suddenly I caught sight of a brown mass moving through the thorn trees on the side of a slope about a quarter of a mile away. My heart seemed to jump into my mouth.

where is the hunter who has not felt like this at the sight of his first elephants? I called a halt, and then the wind being right, we set to work to stalk the bull. Very quietly I rode down the hither side of the slope, till we came to the bottom, which was densely covered with bush. Here I saw that the elephants had been feeding, for broken branches and upturned trees lay all about. I did not take much notice, however,

for all my thoughts were fixed upon the bull I was stalking, when suddenly my horse gave a violent start that nearly threw me from the saddle, and there came a mighty rush and upheaval of something in front of me. I looked. There was the hinder part of a second bull elephant, not four yards off. I could just catch sight of its outstretched ears, projecting on either side. I had disturbed it sleeping and it was running away. Obviously, the best thing to do would have been to let it run, but I was young in those days and foolish,

and in the excitement of the moment, I lifted my roar or elephant gun, and fired at the great brute over my horse's head. The recoil of the heavy gun nearly knocked me off the horse. I recovered myself, however, and as I did so, saw the bull lurch forward, for the impacts of a three-ounce bullet in the flank will quicken the movements, even of an elephant. By this time, I had realized the folly of the shot, and devoutly hoped that the bull would take no further notice of it, but he took a different view of the matter. Pulling himself up in a series of plunges, he spun round and came for me with outstretched ears and uplifted trunk, screaming terribly. I was quite defenseless, for my gun was empty, and my first thought was of

escape. I dug my heels into the side of my horse, but he would not move an inch. Poor animal was paralysed with terror, and he simply stood still, his forelegs outstretched and quivering all over like a leaf. On rushed the elephant, awful to see. I made one more vain effort to stir the horse. Now the trunk of the great bull swung a loft above my head. A thought flashed through my brain. Quick as light I rolled from the saddle. By the side of the horse lay a fallen tree, as thick through as a man's body.

The tree was lifted a little off the ground by the broken boughs which took its weight and with a single movement, so active is one in such necessities, I flung myself beneath it. As I did so, I heard the trunk of an elephant descend with a mighty thud on the back of my poor horse.

and the next instant I was almost in darkness, for the horse whose back was broken fell over across the tree under which I lay ensconced. But he did not stop there long. In ten seconds more the bull had wound his trunk about my dead nag's neck and with a mighty effort hurled him clear of the tree. I wriggled backwards as far as I could towards the roots of the tree, for I knew what he was after.

Presently, I saw the red tip of the bull's trunk stretching itself towards me. If he could manage to hook it round any part of me, I was lost, but in the position I occupied, that was just what he could not do, although he knelt down to facilitate his operations. On came the snapping tip like a great open-mouthed snake. It closed upon my hat, which vanished,

Again it was thrust down, and a scream of rage was bellowed through it, within four inches of my head. Now it seemed to elongate itself. Oh, heavens! Now it had me by the hair, which, luckily for myself, was not very long. Then it was my turn to scream, for next instant, half a square inch of hair was dragged from my scalp by the roots. I was being plucked alive as I have seen cruel Caffir kitchen boys pluck a foul. The elephants, however, disappointed with these moderate results, changed his tactics.

He wound his trunk round the fallen tree and lifted. The tree stirred, but fortunately, the broken branches embedded in the spongy soil and some roots which still held prevented it from being turned over, though he lifted it so much. that, had it occurred to him, he could now easily have drawn me out with his trunk. Again he hoisted with all his mighty strength, and I saw that the tree was coming,

and roared aloud for help. Some shots were fired close by in answer, but if they hit the bull, their only effect was to stir his energies to more active life. In another few seconds my shelter would be torn away, and I should be done for. A cold perspiration burst out over me as I realised that I was lost. Then, of a sudden, I remembered that I had a pistol in my belt which I often used for dispatching wounded game.

It was loaded and capped. By this time the tree was lifted so much that I could easily get my hand down to my middle and draw the pistol from its case. I drew and cocked it. Now the tree was coming over and there, within the tree. three feet of my head was the great brown trunk of the elephant. I placed the muzzle of the

pistol within an inch of it and fired. The result was instantaneous. Down sunk the tree again, giving one of my legs a considerable squeeze, and next instant I heard a crashing sound. The elephant had bolted. By this time, what, between fright and struggling? I was pretty well tired. I cannot how I got from under the fallen tree, or indeed anything, until I found myself sitting on the ground drinking some peach brandy from a flask, and old Lindabazimbi opposite to me, nodding his white lock sagely, while he fired off moral reflections on the narrowness of my escape, and my unwisdom in not having taken his advice to go on foot. That reminded me of my horse. I got up and went to look at it.

It was quite dead. The blow of the elephant's trunk had fallen on the saddle, breaking the framework and rendering it useless. I reflected that in another two seconds it would have fallen on me. Then I called to Indaba Zimbi and asked which way the elephants had gone. There, he said, pointing down the gully, and we had better go after them, Macalmazan. We have had the bad luck, now for the good.

There was philosophy in this, though, to tell the truth, I did not feel particularly sharp set on elephants at the moment. I seemed to have had enough of them. However, it would never do to show the white feather before the boys, so I assented with much outward readiness, and we started, eye on the second horse, and the others on foot. When we had travelled for the best part of an hour down the valley, all of a sudden we came upon the whole herd,

which numbered a little more than 80. Just in front of them, the bush was so thick that they seemed to hesitate about entering it, and the sides of the valley were so rocky and steep at this point that they could not climb them. They saw us at the same moment as we saw them, and inwardly I was filled with fears, lest they should take it into their heads to charge back up the gully.

But they did not. Trumpeting aloud, they rushed at the, a thick bush which went down before them, like corn before a sickle. I do not think that in all my experiences, I ever heard anything to equal the sound they made as they crashed through and over the shrubs and trees. Before them was a dense forest belt, from a hundred to 150 feet in width.

As they rushed on, it fell, so that behind them was nothing but a level roadway strewed with fallen trunks, crushed branches, and here and there a tree, too strong even for them, left standing amid the wreck. On they went, and notwithstanding the nature of the ground

over which they had to travel, they kept their distance ahead of us. This sort of thing continued for a mile or more, and then I saw that in front of the elephants, the valley opened into a space covered with reeds and grass, it might have been five or six acres in extent, beyond which the valley ran on again. The herd reached the edge of this expanse,

and for a moment pulled up, hesitating. Evidently they mistrusted it. My men yelled aloud, as only kaffirs can, and that settled them. Headed by the wounded bull, whose martial ardor, like my own, was somewhat cooled, they spread out and dashed into the treacherous swamp.

for such it was, though just then there was no water to be seen. For a few yards all went well with them, though they clearly found it heavy going, then suddenly the great bulls sunk up to his belly in the stiff peaty soil and remained fixed. The others, mad with fear, took no heed of his struggles and trumpetings, but plunged on to meet the same fate.

In five minutes, the whole herd of them were hopeful, bogged, and the more they struggled to escape, the deeper they sunk. There was one exception. Indeed, a cow managed to win back to firm shore, and lifting her trunk, prepared to charge us as we came up. But at that moment she heard the scream of her calf, and rushed back to its assistance, only to be bogged with the others. Such a scene I never saw before or since, the swissue. The swamp was spotted all over with the large forms of the elephants, and the air rang with their screams of rage and terror as they waved their trunks wildly to and fro. Now and then, the monster would make a great effort and drag his mass from its peaty bed, only to stick fast again at the

next step. It was a most pitiable sight, the one that gladdened the hearts of my men. Even the best natives have a little compassion for the sufferings of animals. Well, the rest was easy. The marsh that would not bear the elephant carried our weight well enough. Before midnight, all were dead, for we shot them by moonlight. I would gladly have spared the young ones and some of the cows, but to do so would only have meant leaving them to perish of hunger. It was kinder to kill them at once. The wounded bull, I slew with my own hand, and I cannot say that I felt much compunction in so doing. He knew me again, and made a desperate effort to get at me,

but I am glad to say that the peat held him fast. The pan presented a curious sight when the sun rose next morning. Owing to the support given by the soil, few of the dead elephants had fallen. There they stood, as though they were asleep. I sent back for the wagons, and when they arrived on the morrow formed a camp about a mile away from the pan. Then began the work of cutting out the elephant's tusks. It took over a week, and for obvious reasons was a disgusting task. Indeed, had it not been for the help of some wandering bushmen who took their pay in elephant's meat,

I don't think we could ever have managed it. At last it was done. The ivory was far too cumbersome for us to carry, so we buried it, having first got rid of our Bushman allies. My boys wanted me to go back to the Cape with it and sell it, but I was too much bent on my journey to do this. The tusks lay buried for five years.

Then I came and dug them up. They were but little harmed. Ultimately, I sold the ivory for something over £1,200. Not bad pay for one day's shooting. This was how I began my career as an elephant hunter. I have shot many hundreds of them since, but have never again attempted to do so on horseback. End of Part 3. Part 4 of Alan's Wife and Other Tales by H. Rider Haggard. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Alan's wife, Chapter 4, the Zulu Impi

After burying the elephant tusks and having taken careful notes of the bearings and peculiarities of the country, so that I might be able to find the spot again, we proceeded on our journey. For a month or more, I trekked along the line which now divides the orange-free state from Gricaland west and the Transvaal from Bechuanaland. The only difficulties met with were such as are still common to African travellers, occasional want of water and troubles about crossing slouts and rivers. I remembered that I outspanned on the spot where Kimberly now stands

and had to press on again in a hurry because there was no water. I little dreamed then that I should live to see Kimberly a great city producing millions of pounds worth of diamonds annually and old Indabazimbi's magic cannot have been worth so much after all, or he would have told me. I found the country almost entirely depopulated. Not very long before, Vossilikatsi, the lion, Shaka's general,

had swept across it in his progress towards what is now Matabili land. His footsteps were evident enough. Time upon time I trekked up to what had evidently been the sights of Kaffir Kral's. Now the kraals were ashes and piles of tumbled stones, and strewn about among the rank grass with the bones of hundreds of men, women and children, all of whom had kissed Zulu Asagai. I remember that in one of those desolate places I found the skull of a child in which a groundlark had built its nest. It was the twittering of the young birds inside that first called my attention to it. Shortly after this we met with our second great adventure, a much more serious

and tragic one than the first. We were tracking parallel with the Cologne River when a herd of Blesbock crossed the track. I fired at one of them and hit it behind. It galloped about a thousand yards with the rest of the herd, then lay down. As we were in want of meat, not having met with any game for a few days past, I jumped on to my horse and, telling in Dabazimbi that I would overtake the wagons or meet them on the further side of a rise about an hour's trek away, I started after the wounded buck. As soon as I came within a hundred yards of it, however, it jumped up and ran away as fast as though it were untouched, only to lie down again at a distance. I followed, thinking that strength would soon fail it. This happened three times.

On the third occasion it vanished behind a ridge, and, though by now I was out of both temper and patience, I thought I might as well ride to the crest and see if I could get a shot as it on the further side. I reached the ridge, which was strewn with stones, looked over it and saw a Zulu impi. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Yes, there was no doubt of it. They were halted about a thousand yards away by the water. Some were lying down, some were cooking at fires, others were stalking about with spears and shields in their hands. There might have been two thousand or more of them in all. While I was wondering, and that with no little uneasiness, what on earth they could be doing there, suddenly I heard a wild cry to the right and left of me.

I glanced first one way, then the other. From either side a great Zulu was bearing down on me, their broad stabbing assegais aloft and black shields in their left hands. The man to the right was about fifteen yards away, he to the left was not more than ten. On they came, their fierce eyes almost starting out of their heads, and I felt with a cold thrill of fear that in another three seconds these broad bangwans might be buried in my vitals.

On such occasions we act, I suppose, more from instinct than anything else. There is no time for thought. At any rate, I dropped to the reins, and raising my gun, fired point-blank at the left-hand man. The bullet struck full in the middle of his shield, pierced it, and passed through him,

and over he rolled upon the felt. I swung round in the saddle. Most happily my horse was accustomed to standing still when I fired from his back. Also, he was so surprised, that he did not know which way to shy. The other savage was almost on me. His outstretched shield touched the muzzle of my gun

as I pulled the trigger of the left barrel. It exploded. The warrior sprung high into the air and fell against my horse dead, his spear passing just in front of my face. Without waiting to reload, or even to Luke if the main body of the Zulus had seen the death of their two scouts,

I turned my horse and drove my heels into his sides. As soon as I was down the slope of the rise, I pulled a little to the right in order to intercept the wagons before the Zulus saw them. I had not gone 300 yards in this new direction, when, to my utter astonishment, I struck a trail marked with wagon wheels and the hooves of oxen. Of wagons there must have been at least eight and several hundred cattle, Moreover, they had passed within 12 hours.

I could tell that by the spoor. Then I understood the impi was following the track of the wagons, which in all probability belonged to a party of emigrant's boars. The spore of the wagons ran in the direction I wished to go, so I followed it. About a mile further on I came to the crest of a rise, and there, about five furlongs away, I saw the wagon, drawn up in a rough lager upon the banks of the river. There too were my own wagons trekking down the slope towards them.

In another five minutes I was there. The boars, for boars they were, were standing about outside the little lager, watching the approach of my two wagons. I called to them, and they turned and saw me. The very first man my eyes fell on was a boar named Hans Bota, whom I had known well years ago in the Cape. He was not a bad specimen of his class, but a very restless person,

with a great objection to authority, or, as he expressed it, a love of freedom. He had joined a party of the emigrant boars some years before, but, as I learned presently, had quarrelled with its leader, and was now trekking away into the wilderness to found a little colony of his own. Poor fellow!

it was his last trek. How do you do, mine here, Booter, I said to him in Dutch. The man looked at me, looked again, then, startled out of his Dutch solidity, cried to his wife, who was seated on the box of the wagon. Come here, frau, come.

Here is Alan Quatermain, the Englishman, the son of the predicants. How goes it, Herr Quatermain, and what is the news down in the Cape yonder? I don't know what the news is in the Cape, Hans, I answered solemnly, but the news here is that there is a Zulu impi upon your spoor, and within two miles of the wagons. That I know, for I have just shot two of their sentries,

and I showed him my empty gun. For a moment there was a silence of astonishment, and I saw the bronzed faces of the men turn pale beneath their tan, while one or two of the women gave a little scream, and the children crept to their sides. "'A almighty!' cried Hans. "'That must be the Umtetetwa regiment "'that Dingan sent out against the Basutus,

"'but who could not come at them because of the marshes, "'and so were afraid to return to Zulu land "'and struck north to join Mosilikatsi. "'Lager up, Carl's! "'Lager up for your lives! "'And one of you jump on a horse "'and drive in the cattle!' "'At that moment my only one of you,

my own wagons came up. In Dabazimbi was sitting on the box of the first, wrapped in a blanket. I called him and told him the news. Ill tidings, Makusaman, he said. There will be dead boars about tomorrow morning. But they will not attack till dawn. Then they will wipe out the lager. So, and he passed his hand before his mouth. Stop that croaking, you white-headed crow, I said. though I knew that his words were true. What chance had a lager of ten wagons all told against at least two thousand of the bravest savages in the world.

Magumazan, will you take my advice this time? Indabazimbi said presently. What is it? I asked. This, leave your wagons here. Jump on that horse and let us too run for it as hard as we can go. The Zulus won't follow us. they will be looking after the boars. I won't leave the other white men, I said.

It would be the act of a coward. If I die, I die. Very well, Macu-Mazan. Then stay and be killed, he answered, taking a pinch of snuff. Come, let us see about the wagons, and we walk towards the lager. Here, everything was in confusion. However, I got hold of Hans Bota and put it to him. if it would not be best to desert the wagons and make a run for life.

How can we do it? he answered. Two of the women are too fat to go a mile. One is sick in childbed, and we have only six horses among us. Besides, if we did, we should starve in the desert. No, Herr Allen, we must fight it out with the savages, and God help us. God help us indeed. Think of the children, Hans. I can't bear to.

think, he answered in a broken voice, looking at his own little girl, a sweet, curly-haired, blue-eyed child of six, named Tota, whom I had often nursed as a baby. Oh, Herr Alan, your father the predicate always warned me against trekking North, and I never would listen to him, because I thought him a cursed Englishman. Now I see my folly. Here, Alan, if you can, try to save my child from those black devils, if you live longer than I do, or if you can't save her, kill her, and he clasped my hand. It hasn't come to that yet, Hans, I said. Then we set to work on the lager. The wagons, of which, including my two, there were ten, were drawn into the form of a square, and the disill-boom of each securely lashed with rhymes to the underwork of that in front of it. The wheels also were

and the space between the ground and the bed-planks of the wagons was stuffed with branches of the weight of bit thorn that fortunately grew near in considerable quantities. In this way, a barrier was formed of no means strength, as against a foe unprovided with firearms, places being left for the men to fire from. In a little over an hour, everything was done that could be and a discussion arose as to the disposal of the cattle which had been driven up close to the camp. Some of the boars were anxious to get them into the lager, small as it was, or at least as many of them as it would hold. I argued strongly against this, pointing out that the brutes would probably be seized with panic as soon as the firing began and trample the defenders of the lager underfoot.

As an alternative plan, I suggested that some of the native servants should drive the herd along the valley of the river till they reached a friendly tribe or some other place of safety. Of course, if the Zulus saw them, they would be taken, but the nature of the ground was favourable, and it was possible that they might escape if they started at once. The proposition was promptly agreed to, and what is more, it was settled that one Dutchman,

and such of the women and children as could travel should go with them. In half an hour's time, twelve of them started with the natives, the boar in charge, and the cattle. Three of my own men went with the latter. The three others, and in Dabazimbi, stopped with me in the laager. The parting was a heart-breaking scene upon which I do not care to dwell.

The women wept, the men groaned, and the children looked on with scared white face, At length they were gone, and I for one was thankful of it. There remained in the Lager, 17 white men, four natives, two boar frows who were too stout to travel, the woman in childbed and her baby, and Hans Bota's little daughter, Tota, whom he could not make up his mind to part with. Happily her mother was already dead, and here I may state that ten of the women and children, together with about half of the cattle escaped.

The Zulu Impi never saw them, and on the third day of travel, they came to the fortified place of a Grica chief, who sheltered them on receiving half the cattle in payment. Thence, by slow degrees, they journeyed down to the Cape Colony, reaching a civilized region within a little more than a year

from the date of the attack on the Lager. The afternoon was now drawing towards evening, but still there were no signs of the impi. A wild hope struck us that they might have gone on about their business. Ever since Indaba Zimbi had heard that the regiment was supposed to belong to the Amtetra tribe,

he had, I noticed, been plunged in deep thought. Presently he came to me and volunteered to go out and spy upon their movements. At first, Hans Boto was against this idea, saying that he was a, Ferdom de Schwarzsel, an accursed black creature, and would betray us. I pointed out that there was nothing to betray. The Zulus must know where the wagons were,

but it was important for us to gain information of their movements. So it was agreed that in Dabazimbi should go. I told him this. He nodded his white lock and said, All right, Macomazan, and started. I noticed with some surprise how, that before he did so, he went to the wagon and fetched his muti or medicine, which, together with his other magical apparatus, he always carried in a skin bag.

I asked him why he did this, he answered that it was to make himself invulnerable against the spears of the Zulus. I did not in the least believe his explanation, for in my heart I was sure that he meant to take the opportunity to make a bolt of it, leaving me to my fate. I did not, however, interfere to prevent this, for I had an affection for the old fellow, and sincerely hoped that he might escape the doom which overshadowed us. So, Indabazimbi sauntered off, and as I looked at his retreating form, I thought that I should never see it again. But I was mistaken, and little knew that he was risking his life, not for the boars whom he hated one and all, but for me, whom in his queer way he loved.

When he had gone, we completed our preparations for defence, strengthening the wagons and the thorns beneath with earth and stones. Then at sunset we ate and drank as heartily as we could under the circumstances, and when we had done, hence Boathe, as head of the party, offered up prayer to God for our preservation. It was a touching sight to see the Burley Dutchman, his hat off, his broad face lit up by the last rays of the setting sun, praying aloud in homely simple language,

to him who alone could save us from the spears of a cruel foe. I remember that the last sentence of his prayer was, Almighty, if we must be killed, save the women and children, and my little girl, Tota, from the accursed Zulus, and do not let us be tortured. I echoed the request very earnestly in my own heart, that I know, for in common with the others I was dreadfully afraid, and it must be admitted, not without reason.

Then the darkness came on, and we took up our appointed places, each with a rifle in his hands, and peered out into the gloom in silence. Occasionally one of the boars would light his pipe with a brand from the smouldering fire, and the glow of it would shed. shine for a few moments on his pale anxious face. Behind me, one of the stout frowse lay upon the ground.

Even the terror of our position could not keep her heavy eyes from their accustomed sleep, and she snored loudly. On the further side of her, just by the fire, lay little tota, wrapped in a caros. She was asleep also, her thumb in her mouth, and from time to time her father would come to look at her. So the hours wore on while we waited for the Zulus. But from my intimate knowledge of the habits of natives, I had little fear that they would attack us at night. Though had they done so, they could have compassed our destruction with but small loss to themselves. It is not the habit of this people. They like to fight in the light of day, at dawn for preference. About 11 o'clock,

just as I was nodding a little at my post, I heard a low whistle outside the lager. Instantly, I was wide awake, and all along the line I heard the clicking of locks, as the boars cocks their guns. Macumazan, said a voice, the voice of Indaba Zimbi. Are you there? Yes, I answered. Then hold a light so that I can see how to climb into the lager, he said. "'Yar, yeah, hither light,' put in one of the boars.

"'I don't trust that black sapsule of yours, here quatermain. "'He may have some of his countrymen with him.' "'Accordingly a lantern was produced and held towards the voice. "'There was indaba Zimbi alone. "'We let him into the laager and asked him the news. "'This is the news, white men,' he said. "'I waited till dark and creeping up to the peeping up to the place where the Zulus are encamped, hid myself behind a stone and listened. There are a great

regiment of Umtetetwaz, as Bas Bota yonder thought. They struck the spore of the wagons three days ago and followed it. Tonight they sleep upon their spears. Tomorrow at daybreak they will attack the lager and kill everybody. They are very bitter against the boars, because of the battle at Blood River, and the other fights, and that is why they followed the wagons, instead of going straight north after Mosilikatsi. A kind of groan went up from the group of listening Dutchmen. I tell you what it is here, and I said, instead of waiting to be butchered here like buck in a pitfall,

let us go out now and fall upon the impi while it sleeps. The proposition excited some discussion, but in the end only one man could be found to vote for it. Boers as a rule lack that dash which makes great soldiers. Such forlorn hopes are not in their line, and rather than embark upon them, they prefer to take their chance in a lager, however poor that chance may be.

For my own part, I firmly believe that had my advice been taken, we should have routed the Zulus. 17 desperate white men armed with guns would have produced no small effect upon a camp of sleeping savages. But it was not taken, so it is no use talking about it. After that we went back to our posts, and slowly the weary night wore on towards the dawn. Only those who have watched under similar circumstances,

while they waited the advent of almost certain and cruel death, can know the torturing suspense of those heavy hours. But they went somehow, and at last, in the far east, the sky began to lighten, while the cold breath of dawn stirred the tilts of the wagons and chilled me to the bone. The fat Dutch woman behind me woke with a yawn, then, remembering all, moaned aloud

while her teeth chattered with cold and fear. Hence Bota went to his wagon and got a bottle of peach brandy From which he poured into a tin panicking Giving each of us a stiff dram And making attempts to be cheerful as he did so But his affected jocularity only seemed to depress his comrades the more Certainly it depressed me Now the light was growing

And we could see some way into the mist Which still hung densely over the river And now, ah, there it was, from the other side of the hill, a thousand yards or more from the lager, came a faint humming sound. It grew and grew till it gathered to a chance, the awful warchance of the Zulus. Soon I could catch the words, they were simple enough. We shall slay, we shall slay, is it not so, my brothers, our spears shall blush blood red, Is it not so, my brothers? For we are the sucklings of chaka.

Blood is our milk, my brothers. Awake, children of the umtetwa, awake! The vulture wheels, the jackal sniffs the air. Awake, children of the umtetwa. Cry aloud ye ringed men. There is the foe we shall slay them. Is it not so, my brothers? Ski, skis, ski!

Such is a rough translation of that hateful, chant, which to this very day I often seem to hear. It does not look particularly imposing on paper, but if, while he waited to be killed, the reader could have heard it, as it rolled through the still air from the throats of nearly 3,000 warriors, singing all to time, he would have found it impressive enough. Now the shields began to appear over the brow of the rise. They came by companies, each company about to. ninety strong.

Altogether, there were thirty-one companies. I counted them. When all were over, they formed themselves into a triple line, then trotted down the slope towards us. At a distance of 150 yards, or just out of shot of such guns as we had in those days, they halted and began singing again. Yonder is the kraal of the whites-man,

a little kraal, my brothers, We shall eat it up, we shall trample it flat, my brothers. But where are the white man's cattle? Where are his oxen, my brothers? This question seemed to puzzle them a good deal, for they sang the song again and again. At last a herald came forward, a great man with ivory rings on his arm,

and, putting his hands to his mouth, called out to us, asking where our cattle were. Hans Bota climbed onto the top of a wagon and roared out that they might answer that question themselves. Then the herald called again, saying that he saw that the cattle had been sent away. "'We shall go and find the cattle,' he said. "'Then we shall come and kill you,

because without cattle you must stop where you are, but if we wait to kill you before we get the cattle, they may have trekked too far for us to follow, and if you try to run away we shall easily catch you white men. This struck me as a very odd speech, for the Zulus generally attack an enemy first, and take his cattle afterwards. Still, there was a certain amount of plausibility about it.

While I was still wondering what it all might mean, the Zulus began to run past us in companies towards the river. Suddenly, a shout announced that they had found the spore of the cattle, and the whole impi of them started down it at the run, until they vanished over a rise about a quarter of a mile away. We waited for half an hour or more, but nothing could we see of them. Now, I wonder if the devils have really gone, said Hans Bota to me. It's very strange. I will go and see, said Indabazimbi. If you will come with me, Makumazan, we can creep to the top of the ridge and look over. At first I hesitated, but curiosity overcame me. I was young in those days,

and weary with suspense. Very well, I said, we will go. So we started. I had my elephant's gun and ammunition. In Dabazimbi had his medicine bag and an assagai. We crept to the top of the rise like sportsmen stalking a buck. The slope on the other side was strewn with rocks, among which grew bushes and tall grass. They must have gone down the donga, I said to Indaba Zimbi. I can't see one of them. As I spoke, there came a roar of men all round me. From every rock, from every tuft of grass, rose a Zulu warrior.

Before I could turn, before I could lift a gun, I was seized and thrown. Hold him, hold a white spirit fast, cried a voice. Hold him, or he will slip away like a snake. Don't hurt him, but hold him fast. Let Indabazimbi walk by his side. I turned on Indabazimbi. You black devil, you have betrayed me, I cried. Wait and see, Makumazan, he answered coolly.

Now the fight is going to begin. End of Part 4. Part 5 of Alan's wife and other tales by H. rider haggard. This librivox recording is in the public domain. Alan's wife, Chapter 5, the end of the Larga. I gasped with wonder and rage. What did that scoundrel in Dabazimbi mean? Why had I been drawn out of the laager and seized, and why, being seized, was I not instantly killed? They called me the white spirit. Could it be that they were keeping me to make me into medicine.

I had heard of such things being done by Zulus and kindred tribes, and my blood ran cold at the thought. What an end! To be pounded up, made medicine of and eaten. However, I had little time for further reflection. For now the whole impi was pouring back from the Donga and riverbanks where it had hidden while their ruse was carried out, and once more formed up on the side of the slope.

I was taken to the crest of the slope and placed in the centre of the reserve line in the especial charge of a huge Zulu named Bombiani, the same man who had come forward as a herald. This brute seemed to regard me with an affectionate curiosity. Now and again he poked me in the ribs with the handle of his Asagai, as though to assure himself that I was solid, and several times he asked me to be so good as to prophesy how many Zulus would be killed before. the Amabuna, as they called the boars, were eaten up. At first I took no notice of him beyond scowling,

but presently, goaded into anger, I prophesied that he would be dead in an hour. He only laughed aloud. Oh, white spirit, he said. Is it so? Well, I've walked a long way from Zuland, and shall be glad of a rest. And he got it shortly, as will be seen.

Now the Zulus began to sing again. We have caught the white spirit, my brother, my brother. I and Tong whispered of him. He smelt him out, my brother. Now the Mahbun are ours. They are already dead, my brother. So that treacherous villain in Dabazimbi had betrayed me. Suddenly the chief of the impi,

a grey-haired man named Sususa, held up his assegai, and instantly there was silence. then he spoke to some Indunas who stood near him. Instantly, they ran to the right and left down the first line, saying a word to the captain of each company as they passed him. Presently, they were at the respective ends of the line and simultaneously held up their spears.

As they did so, with an awful roar of Bulala Amabuna, slay the boars, the entire line, numbering nearly a thousand men, bounded forward like a buck startled from its form and rushed down upon the little lager. It was a splendid sight to see them, their assegai's glittering in the sunlight as they rose and fell above their black shields, their war plumes bending back upon the wind,

and their fierce faces set intensely upon the foe, while the solid earth shook beneath the thunder of their rushing feet. I thought of my poor friends the Dutchman, and trembled. What chance had they against so many? Now the Zulus running in the shape of a bow so as to wrap the lager round on three sides were within seventy yards. And now, from every wagon broke tongs of fire. Overroll a number of the umtetwa, but the rest cared little. Forward they sped, straight into the lager, striving to force a way in. But the boars plied them with volley after volley, and, packed as the Zulus were, the elephant's guns loaded with slugs

and small shot, did frightful execution. Only one man even got onto a wagon, and as he did so, I saw a bore woman strike him on the head with an axe. He fell down, and slowly, amid howls of derision from the two lines on the hillside, the Zulus drew back. "'Let us go farther!' shouted the soldiers on the slope, among whom I was, to their chief who had come up. You have sent out the little girls to fight, and they are frightened. Let us show them the way.

No, no, the chief Sususa answered, laughing. Wait a minute, and the little girls will grow to women, and women are good enough to fight against boars. The attacking Zulus heard the mockery of their fellows, and rushed forward again with a roar. but the boars in the lager had found time to load and they met with a warm reception. Reserving their fire till the Zulus were packed like sheep in a kraal,

they loosed into them with the roars and the warriors fell in little heaps. But I saw that the blood of the Amtetras was up. They did not mean to be beaten back this time, and the end was near. See, six men had leapt onto a wagon, slain the man behind it and sprung into the lager. They were killed there, but others followed,

and then I turned my head, but I could not shut my ears to the cries of rage and death and the terrible, Sgi, Ski, Ski, of the savages as they did their work of murder. Once only I looked up and saw poor Hans Bota standing on a wagon, smiting down men with the butt of his rifle. Then Asagai shot up Towards him like tongues of steel

And when I looked again, he was gone I turned sick with fear and rage, But alas, what could I do? They were all dead now, And probably my own turn was coming, Only my death would not be so swift. The fight was ended, And the two lines on the slope

Broke their order and moved down to the lager. Presently we were there, and a dreadful sight it was. Many of the attacking Zulus were dead, quite fifty, I should say, and at least 150 were wounded, some of them mortally. The chief Susuza gave an order,

the dead men were to be picked up and piled in a heap, while those who were slightly hurt walked off to find someone to tie up their wounds. But the more serious cases met with a different treatment. The chief, or one of his Indunas, considered each case, and if it was in any way bad, the man was taken up and thrown into the river which ran near. None of them offered any objection,

the one poor fellow swam to shore again. He did not stop there long, however, for they pushed him back and drowned him by force. The strangest case of all was that of the chief's own brother. He had been captain of the line, and his ankle was smashed by a bullet. Sususa came up to him, and having examined the wound,

rated him soundly for failing in the first onslaught. The poor fellow made the excuse that it was not his fault, as the boars had hit him in the first rush. His brother admitted the truth of this, and talked to him amicably. Well, he said at length, offering him a pinch of snuff, you cannot walk again. No, chief, said the wounded man, looking at his ankle,

and tomorrow we must walk far, went on Sususa. Yes, chief. Say then, will you sit here on the felt? Or, he nodded towards the river. The man dropped his head on his breast for a minute, as though in thought. Presently, he lifted it and looked Sususa straight in the face.

My ankle pains me, brother, he said. I think I will go back to Zulu land, but there is the only kraal I wished to see again, even if I creep about it like a snake. Footnote, the Zulus believe after death their spirits enter into the bodies of large green snakes which glide about the corals. To kill these snakes as a sacrilege. Editor, end of footnote. It is well, my brother, said the chief. Rest softly. And having shaken hands with him, he gave an order to one of the Indunas and turned away. Then men came and supporting the wounded man,

led him down to the banks of the stream. Here, at his request, they tied a heavy stone round his neck, and then threw him into a deep pool. I saw the whole sad scene, and the victim never even winced. It was impossible not to admire the extraordinary courage of the man, or to avoid being struck with the cold-blooded cruelty of his brother the chief, and yet the act was necessary from his point of view, The man must either die swiftly or be left to perish of starvation,

for no Zulu force will encumber itself with wounded men. Years of merciless warfare had so hardened these people that they looked on death as nothing, and were to do them justice, as willing to meet it themselves as to inflict it on others. When this very impi had been sent out by the Zulu king Dingan, it consisted of some 9,000 men. Now it numbered less than three. All the rest were dead.

They too would probably soon be dead. What did it matter? They lived by war to die in blood. It was their natural end. Kill till you are killed. That is the motto of the Zulu soldier. It has the merit of simplicity. Meanwhile the warriors were looting the wagons, including my own,

having first thrown all the dead boars into a heap. I looked at the heap, all of them were there, including the two stout frowse, poor things. But I missed one body, that of the Hans Bota's daughter, Little Tota. A wild hope came into my heart that she might have escaped, but no, it was not possible. I could only pray that she was already at rest. Just then, the great Sulu Bombiani, who had left my side to indulge in the congenial occupation of looting, came out of a wagon, crying that he had got the little white one. I looked, he was carrying the child tutter, gripping her frock in one of his huge black hands.

He stalked up to where we were and held the child before the chief. Is it dead father? he said with a laugh. Now, as I could well see, the child was not dead, but had been hidden away and fainted with fear. The chief glanced at its care. carelessly and said, Find out with your kennie. Acting on this hint, the black devil held up the child

and was about to kill it with his knobspick. This was more than I could bear. I sprang at him and struck him with all my force in the face, little caring if I was speared or not. He dropped Stota on the ground. Oh, he said, putting his hand to his nose.

The white spirit has a hard fist. come spirit, I will fight you for the child. The soldiers cheered and laughed. Yes, yes, they said. Let Bombiani fight the white spirit for the child. Let them fight with Asagais. For a moment I hesitated, what chance had I against this black giant?

But I had promised poor hands to save the child if I could, and what did it matter? As well die now as later. However, I had wit in. enough left to make a favour of it, and intimated to the chief through Indabazimbi, that I was quite willing to condescend to kill Bombiani, on condition that if I did so, the child's life should be given to me. In Dabazimbi interpreted my words, but I noticed that he would not look down on me as he

spoke, but covered his face with his hands, and spoke of me as the ghost or the son of the spirit. For some reason that I have never quite understood, the chief consented to the duel. I fancy it was because he believed me to be more than mortal, and was anxious to see the last of Bombiani. Let them fight, he said. Give them assegai's and no shields. The child shall be to him who conquers. Yes, yes, cried the soldiers. Let them fight. Don't be afraid, Bombiani. If he is a spirit, he is a very small one. I was never frightened of man or beast, and I am not going to run away from a white ghost,

answered the redoubtable Bombiani, as he examined the blade of his great banguan or stabbing assegai. Then they made a ring round us, gave me a similar assegai, and set us some ten paces apart. I kept my face as calm as I could, and I tried to show no signs of fear, though in my heart I was terrible,

afraid. Humanly speaking, my doom was on me. The giant warrior before me had used the assegai from a child. I had no experience of the weapon. Moreover, though I was quick and active, he must have been at least twice as strong as I am. However, there was no help for it. So, setting my teeth, I grasped the great spear, breathed a prayer and waited. The giant stood a while, looking at me, and, as he stood, Indaba Zimbi walked across the ring behind me, muttering as he passed, "'Cape cool, Makumazan, and wait for him, I will make it all right.' As I had not the slightest intention of commencing the fray, I thought this good advice, though how in Dabazimbi could make it all right, I failed to see.

heavens, how long that half-minute seemed. It happened many years ago, but the whole scene rises up before my eyes as I write. There behind us was the blood-stained lager, and near it lay the piles of dead. Round us was rank upon rank of plumed savages, standing in silence to wait the issue of the duel, and in the centre stood the grey-haired chief and general Sususa

in all his war finery, a cloak of leopard skin upon his shoulders. At his feet lay the senseless form of little Tota. To my left, squatted indaba zimbi, nodding his white lock and muttering something, probably spells, while in front was my giant antagonist, his spear aloft and his plumes wavering in the gentle wind. Then, over all, over grassy slope, river and koppie, over the wagons of the lager, the piles of dead, the dense masses of the living, the swooning child, over all shone the bright impartial sun, looking down like the indifferent eye of heaven

upon the loveliness of nature and the cruelty of man. Down by the river grew thorn trees, and from them floated the sweet scent of the mimosa flower, and came the sound of cooing turtle-doves. I never smell the one or hear the other without the scene flashing into my mind again, complete in its every detail. Suddenly, without a sound, Bombiani shook his assegai and rushed straight at me. I saw his huge form come. Like a man in a dream, I saw the broad spear flash on high. Now he was on me. Then, prompted to it by some providential impulse, or had the spells of Indaba Zimbi anything to do with the matter, I dropped to my knee,

and Quicker's light stretched out my spear. He drove at me, the blade passed over my head. I felt a weight on my assagai. It was wrenched from my hand, his great limbs knocked against me. I glanced round, Bombiani was staggering along with head thrown back and outstretched arms from which his spear had fallen.

His spear had fallen, but the blade of mine stood out between his shoulders. I had transfixed him. He stopped, swung round slowly as though to look at me. Then, with a sigh, the giant sank down, dead. For a moment there was silence. Then a great cry rose, a cry of, Bombiana is dead.

The white spirit has slain Bombiana. Kill the wizard. Kill the ghost who has slain Bombiani by witchcraft. Instantly, I was surrounded by fombe. fierce faces and spears flashed before my eyes. I folded my arms and stood, calmly waiting the end. In a moment it would have come, for the warriors were mad at seeing their champion overthrown thus easily. But presently, through the tumult, I heard the high, cracked voice of Indabazimbi. "'Stam back, you fools!' he cried.

"'Can a spirit then be killed?' "'Speer him! Spear him!' they roared in fury. "'Let us see if he is a spirit. How did a spirit slay Bombiani with a assegai? "'Spere him, Rainmaker, and we shall see.' "'Stand back,' cried Indaba Zimbi again, "'and I will show you if he can be killed. "'I will kill him myself and call him back to life again, before your eyes.' "'Aku Mazan, trust me,' he whispered in my ear.

in the Sissututong, which the Zulus did not understand. Trust me, kneel on the grass before me, and when I strike at you with the spear, roll over like one dead. Then, when you hear my voice again, get up. Trust me, it is your only hope. Having no choice, I nodded my head in a sense, though I had not the faintest idea of what he was about to do.

The tumult lessened somewhat, and once more the warriors drew back. Great white spirit, spirit of victory, said Indaba Zimbi, addressing me aloud and covering his eyes with his hand. Hear me and forgive me. These children are blind with folly, and think thee mortal because thou hast dealt death upon a mortal who dared to stand against thee. Dane to kneel down before me,

and let me pierce me. thy heart with this spear. Then, when I call upon thee, arise unhurt. I knelt down, not because I wished to, but because I must. I had not over much faith in indaba Zimbi, and thought it's probable that he was in truth about to make an end of me. But really, I was so worn with fears, and the horrors of the night and day had so shaken my nerves, that I did not greatly care what befell me. When I had been kneeling thus for about half a minute, Indabazimbi spoke. People of the Antetua, children of Cheka, he said. Draw back a little way, lest an evil fall on you, but now the air is thick with ghosts.

They drew back a space, leaving us in a circle, about twelve yards in diameter. Look on him who kneels before you, went on in Dabazimbi, and Listen to my words, to the words of the witch-finder, the words of the rainmaker, Indabazimbi, whose fame is known to you. He seems to be a young man, does he not? I tell you, children of the Umtetwa, he is no man, he is the spirit who gives victory to the white men. He it is who gave them assegai so that thunder and taught them how to slay. Why were the impis of Dingan rolled back at the Blood River?

Because he was there. Why did the Amabuna slay the people of Mosilikatsi by the thousand? Because he was there. And so I say to you that had I not drawn him from the lager by my magic, but three hours ago you would have been conquered. Yes, you would have been blown away like the dust. before the wind. You would have been burnt up like the dry grass in the winter when the fire is awake among it. I, because he had but been there, many of your bravest were slain in overcoming a few,

the pinch of men who could be counted on the fingers. But, because I loved you, because your chief Sususa is my half-brother, for had we not one father? I came to you, I warned you, then you prayed me, and I drew the spirit forth, but you were not satisfied when the victory was yours, when the spirit of all you had taken asked but one little thing, a white child to take away and sacrifice to himself to make the medicine of his magic of. Here I could hardly restrain myself from interrupting, but thought better of it.

You said him nay. You said, let him fight with our bravest man. Let him fight with Bombiani, the giant for the child. And he deign to slay Bombiani as you have seen. And now you say, slay him, he is no spirit. Now I will show you if he is a spirit, but I will slay him before your eyes and call him to life again. But you have brought this upon yourselves.

Had you believed, had you offered no insult to the spirit, he would have stayed with you, and you should have become unconquerable. Now he will arise and leave you, and woe beyond you if you try to stay him. Now, all men, he went on, look for a space upon this assegai that I hold up, and he lifted the banguan of the deceased Bombiani high above his head so that all the multitude could see it. Every eye was fixed upon the broad bright spear. For a while he held it still, then he moved it round and round in a circle,

muttering as he did so, and still their gaze followed it. For my part, I watched his movements with the greatest anxiety, that Asagai had already been nearer my person than I found at all pleasant, and I had no desire to make a further acquaintance with it, nor indeed was I sure that in Dabazimbi was not really going to kill me. I could not understand his proceedings at all, and at the best I did not relish playing the corpus vile to his magical experiments. Luke, Luke, he screamed.

Then suddenly the great grand. great spear flashed down towards my breast. I felt nothing, but, to my sight, it seemed as though it had passed through me. See, rode the Zulus. Indabazimbi has speared him. The red Asagai stands out behind his back. Roll over, Makumazan, Indabazimbi hissed in my ear. Roll over and pretend to die. Quick, quick! I lost no time in following these strange instructions, but falling onto my side, through my arms wide, kicked my legs about and died as artistically as I could. Presently, I gave a stage shiver and lay still. See, said the Zulus, he is dead, the spirit is dead, look at the blood upon the Asagai.

Stand back, stand back, cried in Dabazimbi. or the ghost will haunt you. Yes, he is dead, and now I will call him back to life again. Look, and putting down his hand, he plucked the spear from wherever it was fixed, and held it aloft. The spear is red, is it not? Watch men, watch! It grows white. Yes, it grows white, they said.

Ah, it grows white. It grows white because the blood rewrote. turns to whence it came, said Indaba Zimbi. Now, great spirit, hear me, thou art's dead, the breath has gone out of thy mouth, yet hear me and arise. Awake, white spirit, awake and show thy power, awake, arise unhurt. I began to respond cheerfully to this imposing invocation. "'Not so fast, Macumazan,' whispered in Dabazimbi. "'I took the hints and first held up my arm, "'then lifted my head and let it fall again.

"'He lives! By the head of Chaka! He lives!' roared the soldiers, "'stricken with mortal fear. "'Then, slowly and with the greatest dignity, "'I gradually arose, stretched my arms, "'yarned like one awaking from heavy sleep, turned and looked upon them unconcernedly. While I did so, I noticed that old Indabazimbi was almost fainting from exhaustion. Beads of perspiration stood upon his brow, his lips trembled and his breast heaved.

As for the Zulus they waited for no more, with a howl of terror the whole regiment turned and fled across the rise, so that presently we were left alone with the dead and the swooning child. "'How on earth did you do that in Dabazimbi?' I asked in a maze. "'Do not ask me, Makumazan,' he gasped. "'You white men are very clever, but you don't quite know everything. "'There are men in the world who can make people believe they see things which they do not see. "'Let us be going while we may,

"'for when those umtetwaes have got over their fright, "'they will come back to loot the wagons. "'Then perhaps they will begin asking questions that I can't answer.' "'And here I may as well state that I never got any further information on this matter "'from old Indaba Zimbi, but I have my theory, and here it is for whatever it may be worth. "'I believe that Indaba Zimbi mesmerized the whole crowd of onlookers, "'myself included, making them believe that they saw the Asagai in my heart and the blood upon the blade.

The reader may smile and say, Impossible, but I would ask him how the Indian jugglers do their tricks, unless it is by mesmerism. The spectators seem to see the boy go under the basket and there pierced with daggers. They seem to see women in a trance supported in mid-air upon the point of a single sword.

In themselves, these things are not possible. They violate the laws of nature, as those laws are known to us, and therefore must surely be illusion. And so through the glamour thrown upon them by Indabazimbi's will, that Zulu impi seemed to see me transfixed with an Asagai, which never touched me. At least that is my theory. If anyone has a better, let him adopt it.

The explanation lies between illusion and magic of a most imposing character, and I prefer to accept the full. first alternative. End of Part 6 of Alan's Wife and Other Tales by H. Rider Haggard. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 6 of Alan's wife. Stella. I was not slow to take in Dabazimbi's hint. About 150 yards to the left of the Lager was a little dell where I had hidden my horse, together with one belonging to the boers. and my saddle and bridle.

Dither we went, I carrying the swooning Tota in my arms. To our joy we found the horses safe, for the Zulus had not seen them. Now of course they were our only means of locomotion, for the oxen had been sent away, and even had they been there, we could not have found time to inspan them.

I laid Tota down, caught my horse, undid his knee-hulter and saddled up. As I was doing so, a thought struck me, and I told in Dabazimbi to run to the laager and see if he could find my double-barreled gun and some powder and shot, for I had only my elephant roar and a few charges of powder and ball with me. He went, and while he was away, poor little Tota came to herself and began to cry, till she saw my face. "'Ah, I have had such a bad dream,' she said in Dutch. dream that the black kaffirs were going to kill me. Where's my papa? I winced at the question. Your papa has gone on a journey, dear, I said, and left me to look after you. We shall find him one day. You don't mind going with Hare Allen, do you? No, she said a little doubtfully, and began to cry again.

Presently, she remembered that she was thirsty and asked for water. I led her to the river and she drank. "'Why is my hand red, Herr Allen?' she asked, pointing to the smear of Bombiani's blood-stained fingers. "'At this moment I felt very glad that I had killed Bombiani. "'It is only paint, dear,' I said. "'See, we will wash it, and your face.' As I was doing this, Indaba Zimbi returned. The guns were all gone.

He said the Zulus had taken them and the powder, but he had found some things and brought them in a sack. There was a thick blanket, about 20 pounds weight of biltong or sundried meat, a few double handfuls of biscuits, two water bottles, a tin panicking, some matches and sundries. And now, macumazan, he said, we had best be going, for those umtetwa's are coming back. I saw one of them on the brow of the rise. That was enough for me. I lifted little tota on the bow of my saddle, climbed into it and rode off, holding her in front of me. Indabazimbi slipped a rhyme into the mouth of the best of the boer horses, threw the sack of sundries onto his back, and amounted also, holding the elephant's gun in his

hand. We went eight or nine hundred yards in silence, till we were quite out of range of sight from the wagons which were in a hollow. Then I pulled up, with such a feeling of thankfulness in my heart as cannot be told in words. For now I knew that mounted as we were, those black demons could never catch us. But where were we to steer for? I put the question to indaba Zimbi, asking him if he thought that we had better try and follow the oxen, which we had sent away with the cafes and women on the preceding night. He shook his head. The hampetwaes will go after the oxen presidency, he answered, and we have seen him. enough of them. Quite enough, I answered with enthusiasm. I never want to see another,

but where are we to go? Here we are alone with one gun and a little girl in the vast and lonely felt. Which way shall we turn? Our faces were towards the north before we met the Zulus, answered in Dabazimbi. Let us still keep them to the north. Right on, Magumazan, tonight when we off-saddle, I will look into the matter. So all, all that long afternoon we rode on, following the course of the river. From the nature of the ground we could only go slowly, but before sunset I had the satisfaction of knowing that there must be at least 25 miles between us and those accursed zulus.

Little Tota slept most of the way, the motion of the horse was easy, and she was worn out. At last the sunset came and we off-saddled in a dell by the river. There was not much to eat, but I soaked some biscuit in water for Tota, and in Dabazimbi and I made a scanty meal of Bil Tong. When we had done, I took off Tota's frock, wrapped her up in the blankets near the fire we had made, and lit a pipe. I sat there by the side of the sleeping orphan child, and from my heart thanked Providence for saving her life and mine from the slaughter of that day. What a horrible experience it had been. It seemed like a nightmare to look back upon, and yet it was a sober fact,

one among those many tragedies which dotted the paths of the emigrant boars with the bones of men, women and children. These horrors are almost forgotten now. People living in Natal, for instance, can scarcely realise that some 40 years ago, 600 white people,

many of them women and children were thus massacred by the impis of Dingarn. But it was so, and the name of the district, Veynen, or the place of weeping, will commemorate them forever. Then I fell to reflecting on the extraordinary adroitness that old Indabazimbi had shown in saving my life. It appeared that he himself had lived among the Amtetra Zulus in his earlier manhood, and was a noted rain doctor and witch-finder. But when Chaka, Dingan's brother ordered a general massacre of the witch-finders, he alone had saved his life by his skill in magic,

and ultimately fled south for reasons too long to set out here. When he heard, therefore, that the regiment was an Amtetua regiment, which, leaving their wives and children, had broken away from Zulu land to escape the cruelties of Dingan, under pretense of spying on them, he took the bold course of going straight up to the chief Sususa and addressing him as his brother, which he was. The chief knew him at once, and so did the soldiers, for his fame was still great among them. Then he told them his cock and bull story about my being a white spirit,

whose presence in the laager would render it invincible, and with the object of saving my life in the slaughter which he knew must ensue, agreed to charm me out of the laager and deliver me into their keeping. How the plan worked has already been told. It was a risky one. Still, but for it, my troubles would have been done with these many days. So I lay and thought with a heart full of gratitude, and as I did so, saw old Indabazimbi sitting by the fire

and going through some mysterious performances with bones which he produced from his bag and ashes mixed with water. I spoke to him and asked what he was about. He replied that he was tracing out the route that we should follow. I felt inclined to answer, Bosch, but remembering the very remarkable instances which he had given of his prowess in occult matters, I held my tongue, and taking little tota into my arms,

worn out with toil and danger and emotion, I went to sleep. I awoke, just as the dawn was beginning to flame across the sky, in sheets of primrose and of gold, or rather it was little Tota who woke me by kissing me as she lay between sleep and waking, and calling me papa. It wrung my heart to hear her, poor orphan child.

I got up, washed, and dressed her as best I could, and we breakfasted as we had sucked, on Bil Tong and biscuit. "'Tota asked for milk, but I had none to give her. "'Then we caught the horses, and I saddled mine. "'Well, in Dabazimbi,' I said, "'now what path do your bones point to?' "'Straight north,' he said, "'the journey will be hard,

"'but in about four days we shall come to the kraal of a white man, "'an Englishman, not a boar. "'His kraal is in a beautiful place, "'and there is a great peak behind it, where there are many baboons. I looked at him. This is all nonsense in Dabazimbi, I said. Whoever heard of an Englishman building a house in these wilds?

And how do you know anything about it? I think that we had better strike east towards Port Natal. As you like, Makwamazan, he answered. But it will take us three months' journey to get to Port Natal, if we ever get there, and the child will die on the road. say, Makumazan, have my words come true here to four, or have they not? Did I not tell you not to hunt the elephants on horseback? Did I not tell you to take one wagon with you instead of two, as it is better to lose one than two? You told me all these things, I answered. And so, I tell you now,

to ride north, Makumazan, for there you will find great happiness. Yes, yes, and great sorrow. But no man should run away from happiness because of the sorrow, as you will, as you will. Again I looked at him. In his divinations I did not believe, yet I came to the conclusion that he was speaking what he knew to be the truth. It struck me as possible that he might have heard of some white man living like a hermit in the wilds, but preferring to keep his prophetic character would not say so. Very well, end Abazimbi, I said. Let us ride north. Shortly after we started, the river we had followed hitherto turned off in a westerly direction,

so we left it. All that day we rode across rolling uplands, and about an hour before sunset halted at a little stream which ran down from a range of hills in front of us. By this time I was heartily tired of the Bil Tong So taking my elephant rifle For I had nothing else I left Tota with Indaba Zimbi And started to try if I could shoot something Oddly enough we had seen no game all the day

Nor did we see any on the subsequent days For some mysterious reason They had temporarily left the district I crossed the little streamlet In order to enter the belt of thorns which grew upon the hillside beyond, for there I hope to find buck. As I did so, I was rather disturbed to see the spore of two lions in the soft sandy edge of a pool. Breathing a hope that they might not be still in the neighbourhood,

I went on into the belt of scattered thorns. For a long while I hunted about without seeing anything, except one dauka book, which bounded off with a crash from the other side of a stone, without giving me a chance. At length, just as it grew dusk, I spied a peaty buck, a graceful little creature, scarcely bigger than a large hair, standing on a stone about forty yards from me. Under ordinary circumstances, I should never have dreamed of firing at such a thing, especially with an elephant's gun, but we were hungry. So I sat down with my back against a rock and aimed steadily at its head.

I did this because if I struck it in the body, the three-ounce ball would have knocked it to bits. At last I pulled the trigger, the gun went off with the report of a small cannon, and the buck disappeared. I ran to the spot with more anxiety than I should have felt in an ordinary way over a kudu or an e-land.

To my delight, there the little creature lay, the huge bullet had decapitated it. considering all the circumstances i do not think that i have often made a better shot than this but if anyone doubts let him try his hand at a rabbit's head fifty yards away with an elephant gun and a three-ounce ball i picked up the peaty in triumph and returned to the camp there we skinned him and toasted his flesh over the fire he just made a good meal for us though we kept the hind legs for breakfast There was no moon this night, and so it chanced that when I suddenly remembered about the lion's spore and suggested we had better tie up the horses quite close to us. We could not find them, though we knew they were grazing within fifty yards. This being so, we could only make up the fire and take our chance.

Shortly afterwards, I went to sleep with little tota in my arms. Suddenly, I was awakened by hearing that peculiarly painful, sound, the scream of a horse quite close to the fire, which was still burning brightly. Next second, there came a noise of galloping hooves, and before I could even rise, my poor horse appeared in the ring of firelight. As in a flash of lightning, I saw his staring eyes and wide-stretched nostrils, and the broken rhyme, with which he had been knee-haltered, flying in the air. Also I saw something else, for on his back was a great dark form with glowing eyes, and from the form came a growling sound. It was a lion. The horse dashed on, he galloped right

through the fire, for which he had run in his terror, fortunately, however, without treading on us, and vanished into the night. We heard his hooves for a hundred yards or more, then there was silence, broken now and again by distant growls. As may be imagined, we did not sleep any more that night, but waited anxiously till the dawn broke two hours later. For as soon as there was sufficient light, we rose, and leaving Tota still asleep, crept cautiously in the direction in which the horse had vanished.

When we had gone fifty yards or so, we made out its remains lying on the feet, felt, had caught sight of two great cat-like forms, slinking away in the grey light. To go any further was useless, we knew all about it now, so we turned to look for the other horse. But our cup of misfortune was not yet full. The horse was nowhere to be found. Soon we came upon its spoor, and then we saw what had happened. Terrified by the sight and smell of the lions, it had with a doubt. It had with a desperate effort also burst the rhyme, with which it had been knee-holtered, and galloped far away.

I sat down, feeling as though I could cry like a woman, for now we were left alone in these vast solitudes, without a horse to carry us, and with a child who was not old enough to walk for more than a little way at a time. Well, it was no use giving in, so with few words we went back to our camp, where I found Tota crying, because she had to her. had woke to find herself alone. Then we ate a little food and prepared to start. First we divided such articles as we must take with us into two equal parts, rejecting everything that we could possibly do without.

Then, by an afterthought, we filled our water bottles, though at the time I was rather against doing so because of the extra weight. But in Dabazimbi overruled me in the matter, fortunately for all three of us. I settled to look after Tota for the first march and to give the elephant's gun to Indaba Zimbi. At length all was ready and we set out on foot. By the help of occasional lifts over rough places,

Tota managed to walk up the slope of the hillside where I had shot the peaty buck. At length we reached it and looking at the country beyond I gave an exclamation of dismalation of dismalade. May. To say that it was a desert would be saying too much. It was more like the Karoo in the Cape, a vast sandy waste, studied here and there with low shrubs and scattered rocks. But it was a great expanse of desolate land, stretching further than the eye could reach, and bordered far away by a line

of purple hills, in the centre of which a great solitary peak soared high into the air. In Dabazimbi, I said, we can never cross this if we take six days. As you will, Makumazan, he answered, but I tell you that there, that he pointed to the peak, there the white man lives. Turn which way you like, but if you turn, you will perish. I reflected for a moment. Our case was, humanly speaking, almost hopeless. It mattered little which way we went. We were alone, almost without food, with no means of transport and a child to carry. As well perish and the sandy waste as on the rolling felt or among the trees of the hillside.

Providence alone could save us, and we must trust to Providence. Come on, I said, lifting Tota on my back, for she was already. tired, all roads thee to rest. How am I to describe the misery of the next four days? How am I to tell how we stumbled on through the awful desert, almost without food, and quite without water, for there were no streams, and we saw no springs? We soon found how the case was, and saved almost all the water in our bottles for the child. To look back on it is like a nightmare. scarcely bear to dwell on it. Day after day, by turns carrying the child through the heavy sand,

night after night, lying down in the scrub, chewing the leaves and licking such dew as there was from the scanty grass. Not a spring, not a pool, not a head of game. It was the third night. We were nearly mad with thirst. Toto was in a comatose condition. In Dabazimbi still had a little water, in his bottle, perhaps a wine-glassful. With it we moistened our lips and blackened tongs.

Then we gave the rest to the child. It revived her. She awoke from her swoon to sink into sleep. See, the dawn was breaking. The hills were not more than eight miles or so away now, and they were green. There must be water there. Come, I said. In Dabazimbi lifted Tota into the kind of sleep. that we had made out of the blanket in which to carry her on our backs, and we staggered on for an hour through the sand. She woke crying for water, and alas, we had none to give her. Our tongs were hanging from our lips, we could scarcely speak.

We rested a while, and Tota mercifully swooned away again. Then Indaba Zimbi took her, though he was so thin, the old man's strength was wonderful. Another hour, the slope of the great peak could not be more than two miles away now. A couple of hundred yards off grew a large Beobab tree. Could we reach its shade? We had done half the distance when Indabazimbi fell from exhaustion.

We were now so weak that neither of us could lift the child onto our backs. He rose again and we each took one of her hands and dragged her along the road. Fifty yards, they seemed to be fifty miles. Ah, the tree was reached at last. Compared with the heat outside, the shade of its dense foliage seemed like the dusk and cool of a vault. I remember thinking that it was a good place to die in.

Then I remember no more. I woke with a feeling as though the blessed rain were falling on my face and head. Slowly, and with great difficulty, I opened my eyes, then shut them again, having seen a vision. For a space I lay thus, while the rain continued to fall. I saw now that I must be asleep, or off my head with thirst and fever. If I were not off my head, how came I to imagine that a lovely dark-eyed girl was bending over me, sprinkling water on my face? A white girl, too, not a cafe.

a woman. However, the dream went on. "'Hendrika,' said a voice in English, the sweetest voice that I had ever heard. Somehow it reminded me of wind whispering in the trees at night. "'Hendrika, I fear he dies. There is a flask of brandy in my saddlebag. Get it!' "'Ah, ah,' grunted a harsh voice in answer. "'Let him die, Miss Stella. He will bring you bad luck. Let him die, I say. I felt a movement of air above me as though the woman of my vision turned swiftly,

and once again I opened my eyes. She had risen, this dreamwoman. Now I saw that she was tall and graceful as a reed. She was angry, too, her dark eyes flashed, and she pointed with her hand at a female who stood before her, dressed in nondescript kind of clothes, such as might be worn by either a man,

or a woman. The woman was young, of white blood, very short, with bowed legs and enormous shoulders. In face she was not bad looking, but the brow receded, the chin and ears were prominent. In short, she reminded me of nothing so much as a very handsome monkey. She might have been the missing link. The lady was pointing at her with her hand. How dare you? she said. Are you going to disobey me again? Have you forgotten what I told you, Babian? Footnote, Baboon, Editor. End of footnote.

Ah, grunted the woman, who seemed literally to curl and shrivel up beneath her anger. Don't be angry with me, Miss Stella, because I can't bear it. I only said it because it was true. I will fetch the brandy. Then, dream or no dream, I determined to speak. "'Not brandy,' I gasped in English, as well as my swollen tongue would allow.

"'Give me water!' "'Ah, he lives!' cried the beautiful girl. "'And he talks English. See, sir, here is water in your own bottle. "'You were quite close to a spring. It is on the other side of the tree.' "'I struggled to a sitting position, lifted the bottle to my lips and drank from it. "'Oh, that drink of cool, pure, pure. water, never had I tasted anything so delicious. With the first gulp, I felt life flow back into me, but wisely enough, she would not let me have much. No more, no more, she said, and dragged the

bottle from me almost by force. The child, I said, is the child dead? I do not know yet, she answered. We have only just found you, and I tried to revive you first. I turned and crept to where Tota lay by the side of Indaba Zimbi. It was impossible to say if they were dead or swooning. The lady sprinkled Tota's face with the water, which I watched greedily, for my thirst was still awful, while the woman Hendrika did the same office for Indaba Zimbi. Presently, to my vast delight, Tota opened her eyes and tried to cry, but could not, poor little thing, because her tongue and lips were so swollen. But the lady got some water into her mouth,

and, as in my case, the effect was magical. We allowed her to drink about a quarter of a pint, and no more, though she cried bitterly for it. Just then, old Indaba Zimbi came to with a groan, he opened his eyes, glanced round, and took in the situation. What did I tell you, Makumazan? He gasped, and seizing the bottle, he took a long pull at it. Meanwhile I sat with my back against the trunk of the great tree and tried to realise the situation. Looking to my left, I saw two good horses, one barebacked and one with a rudely made lady's saddle on it.

By the side of the horses were two dogs of a stout greyhound breed that sat watching us, and near the dogs lay a dead Oribeye-Bup. which they had evidently been coursing. "'Hendrika,' said the lady presently, "'they must not eat meat just yet. "'Go up the tree and see if there is any ripe fruit on it.' "'The woman ran swiftly into the plain and obeyed.

"'Presently she returned. "'I see some ripe fruit,' she said, "'but it is high, quite at the top. "'Fetch it,' said the lady. "'Easer said than done,' I thought to myself. but I was much mistaken. Suddenly, the woman bounded at least three feet into the air and caught one of the spreading boughs in her large flat hands.

Then came a swing that would have filled an acrobat with envy, and she was on it. Now there is an end, I thought again, for the next bow was beyond her reach. But again I was mistaken. She stood up on the bow, gripping it with her bare feet, and once more sprang at the one above, caught it, and swung herself into it. I suppose that the lady saw my expression of astonishment. Do not wonder, sir, she said. Hendrika is not like other people, she will not fall.

I made no answer, but watched the progress of this extraordinary person with the most breathless interest. On she went, swinging herself from bow to bow and running along them like a monkey. At last she reached the top and began to swarm up a thin branch towards the ripe fruit. When she was near enough, she shook the branch violently. There was a crack, a crash, it broke. I shut my eyes, expecting to see her crushed on the ground before me. "'Don't be afraid,' said the lady again, laughing gently. "'Look, she's quite safe.' I looked, and so she was. She had caught a bow as she fell, clung to it, and was now calmly dropping to another.

Olin Dabazimbi had also watched this performance with interest, but it did not seem to astonish him overmuch. "'Baboon woman,' he said, as though such people were common, and then turned his attention to soothing Tota, who was moaning for more water. Meanwhile, Hendrika came down the tree with extraordinary rapidity, and swinging by one hand from a bow, dropped about eight feet to the ground. In another two minutes, we were all three sucking the pulpy fruit. In an ordinary way we should have found it tasteless enough, as it was I thought it's the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. After three days spent without food or water in the desert, one is not particular.

While we were still eating the fruit, the Lady of My Vision set her companion to work to partially flay the Oribe which her dogs had killed, and busied herself in making a fire of fallen boughs. As soon as it burned brightly, she took strips of the Oribe flesh, toasted them, and gave them to us on leaves. We ate, and now were allowed a little more water.

After that, she took Tota to the spring and wend, washed her, which she sadly needed, poor child. Next came our turn to wash, and oh, the joy of it! I came back to the tree, walking painfully indeed, but a changed man. There sat the beautiful girl with Tota on her knees. She was lulling her to sleep, and held up her finger to me, enjoining silence. At last the child went off into a sound natural slumber, an example that I had should have been glad to follow had it not been for my burning curiosity. Then I spoke.

May I ask what your name is? I said. Stella, she answered. Stella what? I said. Stella nothing, she answered in some peak. Stella is my name. It is short and easy to remember at any rate. My father's name is Thomas, and we live up there, and she pointed round the base of the Great Peak. I looked at her astonished. Have you lived there long? I asked. Ever since I was seven years old. We came there in a wagon. Before that we came from England, from Oxfordshire. I can show you the place on the big map. It's called Garsingham. Again I thought I must be dreaming. Do you know, Miss Stella, I said. It is very strange, so strange that it almost seems as though it could not be true,

but I also came from Garsingham in Oxfordshire many years ago. She started up. Are you an English gentleman? she said. Ah, I have always longed to see an English gentleman. I have never seen but one Englishman since we lived here, and he certainly was not a gentleman. No white people at all, indeed, except a few wandering boars. We live among black people and baboons.

Only I have read about English people, lots of books, poetry and novels. But tell me, what is your name? Makumazan, the black man called you, but you must have a white name too. My name is Alan Quatermain, I said. Her face turned quite white, her rosy lips parted,

and she looked at me wildly with her beautiful dark eyes. "'It is wonderful,' she said, "'but I have often heard that name. "'My father has told me how a little boy, "'called Alan Quatermain, once saved my life, "'by putting out my dress when it was on fire. "'See,' as she pointed to a faint red mark upon her neck, "'here is the scar of the burn.'

"'I remember it,' I said. "'You were dressed up as Father Christmas. "'It was I who put out the fire. "'My wrists were. burnt in doing so. Then for a space we sat silent, looking at each other, while Stella slowly fanned herself with her wide felt hat, in which some white ostrich plumes were fixed. "'This is God's doing,' she said at last. "'You saved my life when I was a child. Now I have saved yours and the little girls. Is she your own daughter?' she added quickly.

"'No,' I answered. "'I will tell you the tale presently. "'I will tell you the tale presently. Yes, she said, you should tell me as we go home. It's time to be starting home. It will take us three hours to get there. Hendrika, Hendrika, bring the horses here. End of Part 6. Part 7 of Alan's wife and other tales by H. Rider Haggard. This Librivox recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 7. The Baboon Woman Hendrika obeyed. leading the horses to the side of the tree. "'Now, Mr. Allen,' said Stella, "'you must ride on my horse, "'and the old black man must ride on the other. "'I will walk, and Hendrika will carry the little child. "'Oh, do not be afraid.

"'She is very strong. "'She could carry you or me.' "'Hendrika grunted assent. "'I'm sorry that I cannot express her method of speech "'by any more polite term. "'Sometimes she grunted like a monkey. sometimes she clicked like a bushman and sometimes she did both together

when she became quite unintelligible. I expostulated against this proposed arrangement saying that we could walk, which was a fib, for I do not think that I could have done a mile. But Stella would not listen. She would not even let me carry my elephant's gun, but took it herself.

So we mounted with some difficulty and Henrika took up the sleeping to- Tota in her long sinewy arms. See that baboon woman does not run away into the mountains with the little white one, said Indabazimbi to me in Kaffir as he climbed slowly onto the horse. Unfortunately, Hendrika understood his speech. Her face twisted and grew livid with fury. She put down Tota and literally sprang at Indabazimbi as a monkey springs.

But, weary and worn as he was, the old gentleman was too quick for her. With an exclamation of genuine fright, he threw himself from the horse on the further side, with the somewhat ludicrous result that all in a moment, Hendrika was occupying the seat which he had vacated. Just then, Stella realised the position. "'Come down, you savage, come down,' she said, stamping her foot. The extraordinary creature flung herself from the horse and literally grovelled on the ground before her mistress and burst into tears.

Pardon me, Stella, she clicked and grunted in villainous English. But he called me Babianfrau, baboon woman. Tell your servants that he must not use such words to Hendrika, Mr. Allen, Stella said to me. If he does, she added in a whisper, Hendrika will certainly kill him. I explained this to Indaba Zimbi, who, being considerably frightened, deigned to apologize. But from that hour there was hate and war between these two.

Harmony having been thus restored, we started, the dogs following us. A small strip of desert intervened between us and the slope of the peak. Perhaps it was two miles wide. We crossed it and reached rich, rich, grasslands, for here a considerable stream gathered from the hills, but it did not flow across the barren lands, it passed to the east along the foot of the hills. This stream we had to cross by a ford, Hendrika walked boldly through it, holding Tota in her arms. Stella leapt across from stone to stone like a roebuck. I thought to myself that she was the most graceful creature that I had ever seen.

After this, the track passed around a pleasantly wooded shoulder of the peak, which was I found, known as Babian Cap or Baboon Head. Of course, we could only go at a footpace, so our progress was slow. Stella walked for some way in silence, then she spoke. Tell me, Alan, she said, how it was that I came to find you dying in the desert. So I began and told her all. It took an hour or more to do so, and she listened intensely, now and again asking a question.

"'It's all very wonderful,' she said when I had done. "'Very wonderful indeed. Do you know, I went out this morning with Hendrick and the dogs for a ride, meaning to get back home by midday, for my father is ill, and I do not like to leave him for long. But just as I was going to turn, when we were about where we are now, yes, that was the very very, bush, and Oribe got up, and the dogs chased it. I followed them for the gallop, and when we came to the river, instead of turning to the left, as Bucks generally do, the Oribebe swam the stream and took to the badlands beyond. I followed it, and within a hundred yards of the big tree, the dogs killed it. Hendrika wanted to turn back at once, but I said that we would rest under the shade of

the tree, for I knew that there was a spring of water near, but Well, we went, and there I saw you all lying like dead. But Hendrika, who is very clever in some ways, said no, and you know the rest. Yes, it is very wonderful. It is indeed, I said. Now tell me, Miss Stella, who is Hendrika? She looked round before answering, to see that the woman was not near. Hers is a strange story, Mr. Allen, I will tell you.

You must know that all these men. mountains and the country beyond are full of baboons. When I was a girl of about ten, I used to wander a great deal alone in the hills and valleys and watch the baboons as they played among the rocks. There was one family of baboons that I watched especially. They used to live in a clove, about a mile from the house. The old man baboon was very large and one of the females had a gray face. But the reason why I watched them so much was because I saw that they had with them a creature that looked like a girl, for her skin was quite white, and what was more, that she was protected from the weather when it happened to be cold by a fur belt of some sort, which was

tied round her throat. The old baboons seemed to be especially fond of her, and would sit with their arms round her neck. For nearly a whole summer, I watched this particular white-skinned baboon till at last my curiosity quite overmastered me. I noticed that though she climbed about the cliffs with the other monkeys, at a certain hour before sundown, they used to put her with one or two other much smaller ones into a little cave, while the family went off somewhere to get food, to the mealy fields, I suppose. Then I got an idea that I would catch this white baboon and bring it home.

But of course I could not do this by my sense. So I took a hottentot, a very clever man when he was not drunk, who lived on the stead, into my confidence. He was called Hendrik, and was very fond of me. But for a long while he would not listen to my plan, because he said that the Babians would kill us. At last I bribed him with a knife that had four blades, and what afternoon we started, Hendrick carrying a stout sack made of hide, with a rope running through it, so that the mouth could be drawn tight. Well, we got to the place, and hiding ourselves carefully in the trees at the foot of the clove, watched the baboons playing about, and grunting to each other, till at length, according to

custom, they took the white one and three other little babies, and put them in the cave. Then the old man came out, looked carefully round, called to his family, and went off with them, over the brow of the clouf. Now, very slowly and cautiously, we crept up over the rocks till we came to the mouth of the cave and looked in. All the four little baboons were fast asleep with their backs towards us

and their arms round each other's necks, the white one being in the middle. Nothing could have been better for our plans. Hendrick, who by this time had quite entered into the spirit of the thing, crept along the cave like a snake, and suddenly dropped to the mouth of the hide bag over the head of the white baboon. The poor little thing woke up and gave a violent jump, which caused it to vanish right into the bag.

Then Hendrik pulled the string tight, and together we knotted it, so that it was impossible for our captive to escape. Meanwhile, the other baby baboons had rushed from the cave screaming, and when we got outside, they were nowhere to be seen. "'Come on, Missy,' said Hendrick, "'the babians will soon be back. "'He had shouldered the sack inside of which the white baboon

"'was kicking violently and screaming like a child. "'It was dreadful to hear its shrieks. "'We scrambled down the sides of the clough "'and ran for home as soon as we could manage. "'When we were near the waterfall "'and within about three hundred yards of the garden wall, "'we heard a voice behind us, "'and there, leaping,

from rock to rock and running over the grass was the whole family of baboons, headed by the old man. Run, missy, run, gasped Hendrick, and I did, like the wind, leaving him far behind. I dashed into the garden where some kaffirs were working, crying, the babians, the babians. Luckily the men had their sticks and spears by them, and ran out, just in time to save Hendrik, who was almost overtaken. The baboons made a good fight for it, however, and it was not till the old man was killed with an assegai that they ran away. Well, there is a stone hut in the kraal at the stead,

where my father sometimes shuts up natives who have misbehaved. It's very strong and has a barred window. To this hut, Hendrik carried the sack, and having untied the mouth, put it down on the floor and ran from the place, shutting the door behind him. In another moment, the poor little thing was out and dashing round the stone hut as though it were mad. It sprung at the bars of the window, clung there, and beat its head against them till the blood came. Then it fell to the floor and sat upon it, crying like a child, and rocking itself backwards and forwards. It was so sad to see it that I began to cry too. Just then,

My father came in and asked what all the fuss was about. I told him that we had caught a young white baboon, and he was angry and said that it must be let go. But when he looked at it through the bars of the window, he nearly fell down with astonishment. Why, he said, this is not a baboon, it is a white child that the baboons have stolen had brought up. Now, Mr. Allen, whether my father is right or wrong you can judge,

for yourself. You see Hendrika, we named her that after Hendrik who caught her. She is a woman, not a monkey, and yet she has many of the ways of monkeys, and looks like one too. You saw how she can climb, for instance, and you hear how she talks. Also, she is very savage, and when she is angry or jealous, she seems to go mad, though she is as clever as anybody. I think that she must had been stolen by the baboons when she was quite tiny and nurtured by them, and that is why she is so like them. But to go on, my father said that it was our duty to keep Henrika at any cost. The worst of it was that for three days she would eat nothing, and I thought that she would die, for all the while she sat and wailed. On the third day, however, I went to the bars of the

window place and held out a cup of milk and some fruit to her. She looked at it for a long while, then crept up, moaning, took the milk from my hand, drank it greedily, and afterwards ate the fruits. From that time forward, she took food readily enough, but only if I would feed her. But I must tell you of the dreadful end of Hendrik. From the day that we captured Hendrika, the whole place began to swarm with baboons, which were evidently employed in watching the kraals. One day Henrik went out towards the hills alone to gather some medicine.

He did not come back again. So next day, search was made. By a big rock which I can show you, they found his scattered and broken bones, the fragments of his assegai and four dead baboons. They had set upon him and torn him to pieces. My father was very much frightened at this, but still he would not let Hendrik go,

because he said that she was human, and that it was our duty to reclaim her. And so we did, to a certain extent at least. After the murder of Hendrik, the baboons vanished from the neighbourhood and have only returned quite recently. So at length we have ventured to let Hendrika out. By this time she had grown very fond of me, still on the first opportunity she ran away, but in the evening she returned again.

She had been seeking the baboons and could not find them. Shortly afterwards she began to speak. I taught her, and from that time she has loved me so that she will not leave me. I think it would kill her if I went away from her. She watches me all day and at night sleeps on the floor of my hut. Once too she saved my life when I was swept down the river in flood, but she is jealous and hates everybody else. "'Look how she is glaring at you now, because I am talking to you.'

I looked. Hendrika was tramping along with the child in her arms and staring at me in a most sinister fashion out of the corners of her eyes. While I was reflecting on the baboon woman's strange story and thinking that she was an exceedingly awkward customer, the path took a sudden turn. "'Look,' said Stella, "'there is our home.

Is it not beautiful?' It was beautiful indeed. Here on the western side of the Great Peak, a bay had been formed in the mountain, which might have measured 800 or 1,000 yards across by three quarters of a mile in depth. At the back of this indentation, the sheer cliff rose to the height of several hundred feet,

and behind it and above it, the great Babian Peak towered up towards the heavens. The space of ground embraced thus in the sea, the arms of the mountain, as it were, was laid out as though by the cunning hand of man in three terraces that rose one above the other. To the right and left of the topmost terrace were chasms in the cliff, and down each chasm fell a waterfall, from no great height indeed, but of considerable volume. These two streams flowed away on either side of the enclosed space, one towards the north, and the other the course of which we had been

following ran the base of the mountain. At each terrace they made a cascade, so that the traveller approaching had a view of eight waterfalls at once. Along the edge of the stream to our left were placed kaffir kraals, built in orderly groups with verandas after the Basutu fashion, and a very large part of the entire space of land was under cultivation. All of this I noted at once, as well as the extraordinary richness and depth of the soil, which for many ages past had been washed down from the mountain heights. Then, following the line of an excellent wagon road on which we now found ourselves that wound up from terrace to terrace, my eye lit upon the crowning wonder of the scene,

for in the centre of the topmost platform or terrace, which may have enclosed eight or ten acres of ground, and almost surrounded by groves of orange trees, gleamed buildings of which I had never seen the like. There were three groups of them, one in the middle, and one on either side, and a little to the rear, but, as I afterwards discovered, the plan of all was the same. In the centre was an edifice constructed like an ordinary Zulu hut,

that is to say, in the shape of a beehive, only it was five times the size of any hut I had, ever saw, and built of blocks of hewn white marble, fitted together with extraordinary knowledge of the principles and properties of arch building, and with so much accuracy and finish, that it was often difficult to find the joints of the massive blocks. From this centre hut, ran three covered passages, leading to other buildings of an exactly similar character, only smaller, and each whole block was enclosed by a marble wall, about four feet. height. Of course, we were as yet too far off to see all these details, but the general

outline I saw at once, and it astonished me considerably. Even old Indabazimbi, whom the baboon woman had been unable to move, deigned to show wonder. "'Ugh!' he said, "'this is a place of marvels. Whoever saw kraals built of white stone?' Stella watched our faces with an expression of intense amusement, but said nothing. "'Did your father build those kraals?' I gasped at length. "'My father—' "'No, of course not,' she answered. "'How would it have been possible for one white man to do so,

"'ought to have made this road? "'He found them, as you see. "'Who built them then?' I said again. "'I do not know. "'My father thinks they are very ill. ancient, for the people who live here now do not know how to lay one stone upon another, and these huts are so wonderfully constructed that though they must have stud for ages, not a stone of them had fallen. But I can show you the quarry where the marble was cut,

it is close by, and behind it is the entrance to an ancient mine, which my father thinks was a silver mine. Perhaps the people who worked the mine built to the marble huts? The world is old, doubt plenty of people have lived in it had been forgotten. Footnote, Krales of a somewhat similar nature to those described of my Mr. Quatermain have been discovered in the Mariko district of the Transvaal, and an illustration of them is to be found in Mr. Anderson's 25 years in a wagon volume 2, page 55. Mr. Anderson says, in this district are the ancient stone kraals mentioned in an early chapter, but it requires a full of full of the full of the description to show that these extensive clars must have been erected by a white race who understood

building in stone and at right angles with doorposts lintels and sills, and it required more than kaffir skill to erect the stone huts with stone circular roofs beautifully formed and most substantially erected, strong enough, if not disturbed, to last a thousand years. Editor, end of footnote. Then we rode on in silence. I have seen many beautiful sights in Africa, and in such matters, as in others, comparisons are odious and worthless,

but I do not think that I ever saw a lovelier scene. It was no one thing, it was the combination of the mighty peak looking forth onto the everlasting plains, the great cliffs, the waterfalls that sparkled in rainbow hues, the rivers girdling the rich, cultivated lands, the gold-specked green of the orange trees, the flashing domes of the marble huts, and a thousand other things. Then over all brooded the peace of evening and the infinite glory

of the sunset that filled heaven with changing hues of splendour, that wraps of the mountain and cliffs in cloaks of purple and of gold, and lay upon the quiet face of the water like the smile of a god. Perhaps also the contrast and the memory of those three awful days and nights in the hopeless desert enhanced the charm, and perhaps the beauty of the girl who walked beside me completed it. For of this I am sure that of all sweet and lovely things that I looked on then, she was the sweetest and the loveliest. Ah, it did not take me long to find my fate. How long will it be, before I find her once again. End of Part 7.

Just Part 8 of Alan's wife and other tales by H. Ryder Haggard. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 8. The Marble Krales. At length the last platform or terrace was reached and we pulled up outside the wall surrounding the central group of marble huts,

for so I must call them for want of a better name. Our approach had been observed by a crowd of natives, whose race I have never been able to determine accurately. They belong to the Basutu, and peaceful section of the Bantu peoples, rather than to the Zulu and warlike. Several of these ran up to take the horses, gazing on us with astonishment,

not unmixed with awe. We dismounted, speaking for myself, not without difficulty, indeed, had it not been for Stella's support, I should have fallen. "'Now you must come and see my father,' she said. "'I wonder what he will think of it. It is all so strange. Hendrika, take the child to my hut and give her milk, then put her into my bed. I will come presently.'

Hendrika went off, with a somewhat ugly grin to do her mistress's bidding, and Stella led the way through the narrow gateway into the marble wall, which may have enclosed nearly half an earth, or three-quarters of an acre of ground in all. It was beautifully planted as a garden, many European vegetables and flowers were growing in it, besides others with which I was not acquainted. Presently we came to the centre hut, and it was then that I noticed the extraordinary beauty and finish of the marble masonry. In the hut and facing the gateway was a modern door, rather rudely fashioned of Buchenhout, a beautiful reddish wood that has the appearance of having been sedulously pricked with a pin.

Stella opened it and we entered. The interior of the hut was the size of a large and lofty room, the walls being formed of plain polished marble. It was lighted somewhat dimly, but quite effectively by peculiar openings in the roof from which the rain was excluded by overhanging eaves. The marble floor was strewn with native mats and skins of animals. Bookcases filled with books were placed against the walls. There was a table in the centre, chairs seated with rimpi or strips of hide stood about, and beyond the table was a couch on which a man was lying reading. "'Is that you, Stella?' said a voice that even after so many years seemed familiar to me.

"'Where have you been, my dear? I began to think things. you had lost yourself again. No, Father dear, I have not lost myself, but I have found somebody else. At that moment I stepped forward so that the light fell on me. The old gentleman on the couch rose with some difficulty and bowed with much courtesy.

He was a fine-looking old man with deep-set dark eyes, a pale face that bore many traces of physical and mental suffering, and a long white beard. "'Be welcome, sir,' he said. "'It is long since we have seen a white face in these wilds. "'And yours, if I'm not mistaken, is that of an Englishman.

"'There has been but one Englishman here for twelve years, "'and he, I grieved to say, was an outcast, flying from justice.' "'And he bowed again and stretched out his hand. "'I looked at him, and then of a sudden his last, name flashed back into my mind. I took his hand. How do you do, Mr. Carson, I said. He started back as though he had been stung. Who told you that name? He cried. It is a dead name. Stella, is it you? I've obeyed you to let it pass your lips. I did not speak it, father. I have never spoken it, she answered.

Sir, I broke in. If you will allow me, I will show you how I came to know your name. Do you remember, many years ago, coming into the study of a clergyman in Oxfordshire, and telling him that you were going to leave England for ever? He bowed his head, and do you remember a little boy who sat upon the hearthrug, writing with a pencil?

I do, he said. I was that boy, and my name is Alan Quaterman. Those children who lay sick are all dead, their mother is dead, and my father, your old friend is dead also. Like you he emigrated, and last year he died in the Cape. But that is not all the story. After many adventures, I, one kaffir and a little girl lay senseless and dying in the badlands, where we had wandered for days without water, and there we should have perished, but your daughter, Miss— "'Call her Stella,' he broke in hastily.

"'I cannot bear to hear that name. "'I have forsworn it. "'Miss Stella found us by chance and saved our lives.' "'By chance, did you say, Alan Quatermain,' he answered. "'There is little chance in this. "'Such chances spring from another will than ours. "'Welcome, Alan, son of my old friend. "'Here we live, as it were, in a hermitage,

"'with nature for our own. only friend, but such as we have is yours, and for as long as you will take it. But you must be starving. Talk no more now. Stella, it is time to eat. Tomorrow we will talk. To tell the truth, I can recall very little of the events of that evening. A kind of dizzy weariness overmastered me. I remember sitting at a table next to Stella and eating heartily, and then I remember nothing more. I awoke to find myself lying on a comfortable bed in a hut built and fashioned on the same model as the centre one. While I was wondering what time it was, a native came, bringing some clean clothes on his arm, and, luxury of luxuries, produced a bath hollowed from wood.

I rose feeling a very different man. My strength had come back again to me. I dressed, and following a covered passage, found myself in the centre hut. Here the table was set for breakfast with all manner of good things, such as I had not seen for many a month, which I contemplated with healthy satisfaction. Presently I looked up, and there before me was a more delightful sight, for standing in one of the doorways which led to the sleeping huts was Stella, leading little toter by the hand. She was very simply dressed in a loose blue gown with a wide collar, and girdled in at the way. waist by a little leather belt. In the bosom of her robe was a bunch of orange blooms, and her rippling hair was tied in a single knot behind her shapely head. She greeted me with a smile, asking how I had slept, and then held Tota up for me to kiss. Under her loving care,

the child had been quite transformed. She was neatly dressed in a garment of the same blue stuff that Stella wore. Her fair hair was brushed. Indeed, had it not been for the sunblisters on her face and hands, one would scarcely have believed that this was the same child whom in Dabazimbi and I had dragged for hour and hour through the burning, waterless desert. "'We must breakfast alone, Mr. Allen,' she said. "'My father is so upset by your arrival that he will not get up yet. "'Oh, you cannot tell how thankful I am that you have come. "'I have been so anxious about him of late.

"'He grows weaker and weaker. "'It seems to me as though the strength were ebbing away from him. "'Now he scarcely leaves the kraal. "'I have to manage everything about the farm. "'He does nothing but read and think.' "'Just then, Hendrika entered, "'bearing a jug of coffee in one hand and of milk in the other, "'which he set down upon the table,

casting a look of little love at me as she did so. Be careful, Hendrika, you are spilling the coffee, said Stella. Don't you wonder how we come to have coffee here, Mr. Allen? I will tell you, we grow it. That was my idea. Oh, I have lots of things to show you. You don't know what we have managed to do in the time that we have been here. You see, we have plenty of labour,

for the people about to look upon my father as their chief. Yes, I said, but how do you get all these luxuries of civilisation? And I pointed to the books, the crockery, and the knives and forks. Very simply, most of the books my father brought with him when we first trekked into the wilds. There was nearly a wagon load of them. But every few years we have sent an expedition of three wagons right down to Port Natal. The wagons are loaded with ivory and other goods, and come back with all kinds of things that have been sent out from England for us.

So, you see, although we live in this wild place, we are not altogether cut off. We can send runners to Natal and back in three months, and the wagons get there and back in a year. The last lot arrived quite safe about three months ago. Our servants are very faithful, and some of them speak Dutch well. Have you ever been with the wagons, I asked. "'Since I was a child I have never been more than thirty miles from Babian's Peak,' she answered. "'Do you know, Mr. Allen, that you are, with one exception, the first Englishman that I have known out of a book. "'I suppose that I must seem very wild and savage to you, but I have had one advantage, a good education.

"'My father has taught me everything, and perhaps I know some things that you don't. "'I can read French and German, for instance. I think that my father's first idea was to let me run wild altogether, but he gave it up. And don't you wish to go into the world, I asked. Sometimes, she said, when I get lonely, but perhaps my father is right, perhaps it would frighten and bewilder me. At any rate, he would never return to civilisation. It is his idea, you know, that I am sure I do not know where he got it from,

nor why he cannot bear that our name should be spoken. In short, Mr. Quatermain, we do not make our lives. We must take them as we find them. Have you done your breakfast? Let us go out, and I will show you our home. I rose and went to my sleeping place to fetch my hat. When I returned, Mr. Carson, for after all that was his name,

though he would never allow it to be spoken, had come into the hut. He felt better now, he said, and would accompany us on our walk, if Stella would give him an arm. So we started, and after us came Hendrika with Tota, and old Indabazimbi, whom I found sitting outside as fresh as paint. Nothing could tire that old man. The view from the platform was almost as beautiful as that from the lower ground looking up to the peak. The marble kraals, as I have said, faced west, consequently all the upper terrace lay in the shadow of the Great Peak till nearly 11 o'clock in the morning,

a great advantage in that warm latitude. First we walked through the garden, which was beautifully cultivated, and one of the most productive that I ever saw. There were three or four natives working in it, and they all saluted my host as Baba or Father. Then we visited the other two groups of marble huts. One of these was used for,

for stables and outbuildings. The other as storehouses, the centre hut having been, however, turned into a chapel. Mr Carson was not ordained, but he earnestly tried to convert the natives, most of whom were refugees who had come to him for shelter, and he had practised the more elementary rights of the church

for so long that I think he began to believe that he really was a clergyman. For instance, he always married those of his people who would consent to a monogamous existence and baptised their children. When we had examined these wonderful remains of antiquity, the marble huts, and admired the orange trees, the vines and fruits, which thrive like weeds in this marvellous soil and climate, we descended to the next platform and saw the farming operations in full swing.

I think that it was the best farm I have ever seen in Africa. There was ample water, For purposes of irrigation, the grasslands below gave pasturage for hundreds of head of cattle and horses, and for natives, the people were most industrious. Moreover, the whole place was managed by Mr Carson on the cooperative system. He only took a tithe of the produce. Indeed, in this land of teeming plenty, what was he to do with more? Consequently, the tribesmen, who by the way called themselves the children of to talk,

commerce, were able to accumulate considerable wealth. All their disputes were referred to their father, and he also was judge of offences and crimes. Some were punished by imprisonment, whipping, and loss of goods, other and graver transgressions by expulsion from the community, a fiat which, to one of these favoured natives, must have seemed as heavy as the decree that drove Adam from the Garden of Eden. Old Mr Carson leaned upon his daughter's arm

and contemplated the scene with pride. "'I have done all this, Alan Quatermain,' he said. "'When renouncing civilization, I wandered here by chance. Seeking a home in the remotest places of the world, I found this lonely spot a wilderness. Nothing was to be seen except the sight, the domes of the marble huts and the waterfall. I took possession of the huts.

I cleared the patch of gardenland and planted the orange grove. I had only six natives then, but by degrees others joined me. Now my tribe is a thousand strong. Here we live, in profound peace and plenty. I have all I need, and I seek no more. Heaven has prospered me so far. May it do so to the end, which for me, draws nigh. And now, I am tired and will go back. If you wish to see the old quarry and the mouth of

the ancient's mines, Stella will show them to you. No, my love, you need not trouble to come. I can manage alone. Look, some of the headmen are waiting to see me. So he went, but still followed by Hendrika and Indabazimbi. We turned, and walking along the bank of one of the rivers passed up behind the marble kraals and came to the quarry, whence the material of which they were built had been cut in some remote age. The pit opened up a very thick seam

of the whitest and most beautiful marble. I know another like it in Natal, but by whom it had been worked I cannot say. Not by natives, that is certain, though the builders of these kraals had condescended to borrow the shape of native huts for their model, By the way, the only relic of those builders that I ever saw was a highly finished bronze pickaxe, which Stella found one day in the quarry.

After we had examined this quarry, we climbed the slope of the hill till we came to the mouth of the ancient mines which were situated in a gorge. I believe them to have been silver mines. The gorge was long and narrow, and the moment we entered it there rose from every side a sound of groaning and barking that was almost enough to deafen us. I knew what it was at once. The whole place was filled with baboons, which clambered down the rocks towards us from every direction and in a manner that struck me as being unnaturally fearless. Stella turned a little pale and clung to my arm.

"'It is very silly of me,' she whispered. "'I am not at all nervous, but ever since they killed Hendrick, I cannot bear the sight of those animals. I always think that there is something human about them. Meanwhile, the baboons drew nearer, talking to each other as they came. Tota began to cry and clung to Stella. Stella clung to me,

while I and indaba Zimbi put as bold a front on the matter as we could. Only Hendrika stood looking at the brutes with an unconcerned smile on her monkey face. When the great apes were quite near, she suddenly called out aloud. They stopped their hideous clamour, as though it was a word of command. Then Hendrika addressed them, I can only describe it so. That is to say, she began to make a noise such as baboons do when they converse with each other. I have known hottentots and bushmen who said that they could talk with the baboons

and understand their language, but I confess, I never heard it's done, before or since. From the mouth of Hendrika came a succession of grunts, groans, squeals, clicks, and every other abominable noise that can be conceived, conveying to my mind a general idea of expostulation. At any rate, the baboons listened. One of them grunted back some answer, and then the whole mob drew off to the rocks. I stood astonished, and without a word we turned back to the kraal, for Hendrika was too close to allow me to speak. When we reached the dining hut, Stella went in, followed by Hendrika, but in Tabazimbi plucked me by the sleeve, and I stopped outside.

Macumazan, he said, baboon woman, devil woman, be careful Macumazan, she loves that star. The natives aptly enough called Stella the star, and is jealous. Be careful, Macomazahn, or the star will set. End of Part 8. Part 9 of Alan's Wife and Other Tales by H. Rider Haggard. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Alan's Wife, Chapter 9. Let us go in, Alan.

It is very difficult for me to describe the period of time which elapsed between my arrival at Babian's Peak and by marriage with Stella. When I look back on it, it seems sweet as with the odour of flowers, and dim as with the happy dusk of summer eaves, while through the sweetness comes the sound of Stella's voice, and through the gloom shines the starlight of her eyes. I think that we loved each other from the first,

though for a while we said no word of love. Day by day I went about the place with her, accompanied by little Tota and Hendrika only, while she attended to the thousand and one matters which her father's ever-growing weakness had laid upon her. Or rather, as time drew on, I attended to the business, and she accompanied me. All day through we were together. Then, after supper, when the night had fallen, we would walk together in the garden, and come in at length to hear her father read aloud, sometimes from the works of a poet, sometimes from history. Or if he did not feel

Well, Stella would read, and when this was done, Mr Carson would celebrate a short form of prayer, and we would separate till the morning once more brought our happy hour of meeting. So the weeks went by, and with every week I grew to know my darling better. Often, I wonder now if my fond fancy deceives me, or if indeed there are women as sweet and dear as she. Was it solitude that had given such depth and gentleness to her, was it the long years of communing with nature that had endowed her with such peculiar grace, the grace we find in opening flowers and budding trees? Had she caught that murmuring voice from the sound of the streams which fall continually about her rocky home?

Was it the tenderness of the evening sky beneath which she loved to walk, that lay like a shadow on her face, and the light of the evening stars that shone in her quiet eyes? At the least, to me, she was the realisation of that dream which haunts the sleep of sin-stained men. So my memory paints her, so I hope to find her when at last the sleep has ruled away and the fevered dreams are done. At last there came a day,

the most blessed of my life, when we told our love. We had been together all the morning, but after dinner, Mr Carson was so unwell that Stella stopped in with him. At supper we met again, and after supper, when she had put little Tota, to whom she had grown much attached to bed, we went out, leaving Mr Carson dozing on the couch. The night was warm and lovely, and without speaking, we walked up the garden to the orange grove and sat down upon a rock. There was a little breeze which shook the petals of the orange blooms over us in showers and bore their delicate fragrance far and wide. silence reigned around, broken only by the sound of the falling waterfalls that now died to a faint murmur,

and now, as the wavering breeze turned, boomed loudly in our ears. The moon was not yet visible, but already the dark clouds which floated through the sky above us, for there had been rain, showed a glow of silver, telling us that she shone brightly behind the peak. Stella began to talk in her low gentle voice, speaking to me of her life in the wilderness, how she had grown to love it, how her mind had gone on from idea to idea, and how she pictured the great rushing world that she had never seen, as it was reflected to her from the books which she had read. It was a curious vision of life that she had.

Things were out of proportion in it. It was more like a dream than a reality, a mirage than the actual face of things. The idea of great cities, and especially of London, had a kind of fascination for her. She could scarcely realise the rush, the roar and hurry, the hard crowds of men and women, strangers each to each, feverishly seeking for wealth and pleasure beneath the murky sky, and treading one another down in the fury of their competition. What is it all for? she asked earnestly. What do they seek? Having so few years to live, why do they waste them thus?

I told her that in the majority of instances it was actually a hard necessity that drove them on, but she could barely understand me. Living as she had done in the midst of the teeming plenty of a fruitful earth, she did not seem to be able to grasp the fact that there are millions who from day to day know not how to stay their hunger. I never want to go there, she went on. I should be bewildered and frightened to death. It is not natural to live like that. God put Adam and Eve in a garden,

and that is how he meant their children to live, in peace, and always looking upon beautiful things. This is my idea of perfect life. I want no other. I thought you once told me that you found it lonely, I said. So I did, she answered innocent. but that was before you came, now I'm not lonely anymore,

and it is perfect, perfect as the night. Just then the full moon rose above the elbow of the peak, and her rays stole far and wide down the misty valley, gleaming on the water, brooding on the plain, searching out the hidden places of the rocks, wrapping the fair form of nature as in a silver bridle veil through which her beauty shone mysteriously. Stella looked down the terraced valley.

She turned and looked up at the scarred face of the golden moon, and then she looked at me. The beauty of the night was about her face, the scent of the night was on her hair, the mystery of the night shone in her shadowed eyes. She looked at me, I looked on her, and all our hearts love blossomed within us. We spoke no word, we had no words to speak.

but slowly we drew near till lips were pressed to lips as we kissed our eternal troth. It was she who broke that holy silence, speaking in a changed voice, in soft deep notes that thrilled me like the lowest chords of a smitten harp. Ah, now I understand, she said. Now I know why we are lonely, and how we can lose our loneliness. Now I know what it is that stirs us in the beauty of our beauty of, the sky, in the sound of water, and in the scent of flowers. It is love who speaks in everything, though till we hear his voice we understand nothing. But when we hear, then the riddle is answered,

and the gates of our heart are opened, and Alan, we see the way that wends through death to heaven and is lost in the glory of which our love is but a shadow. Let us go in, Alan. Let us go before the spell breaks, so that whatever overtakes us, sorrow, death, or separation, we may always have this perfect memory to save us. Come, dearest, let us go. I rose like a man in a dream, still holding her by the hand, but as I rose, my eye fell upon something that gleamed white among the foliage of the orange bush at my side. I said nothing but looked. The breeze stirred, the breeze stirred,

the orange leaves, the moonlight struck for a moment full upon the white object. It was the face of Henrika, the Babian woman, as Indabazimbi had called her, and on it was a glare of hate that made me shudder. I said nothing, the face vanished, and just then I heard a baboon bark in the rocks behind. Then we went down the garden, and Stella passed into the centre hut. I saw Hendrika's standing in the shadow near the door and went up to her. Hendrika, I said, why were you watching Miss Stella and myself in the garden? She drew her lips up till her teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

Have I not watched her these many years, Macumazan? Shall I cease to watch because a wandering white man comes to steal her? Why were you kissing her in the garden, Macumazan? How dare you kiss her who is a steece? I kissed her because I love her and because she loves me, I answered. What has that to do with you, Hendrika? Because you love her, she hissed in answer, and do I not love her also, who saved me from the Babians?

I am a woman as she is, and you are a man, and they say in the kraals that men love women better than women love women. But it is a lie, though this is true, that if a woman loves a man, she forgets all other love. Have I not seen it? I gather her flowers, beautiful flowers. I climb the rocks where you would never dare to go find them. You pluck a piece of orange bloom in the garden and give it to her.

What does she do? She takes the orange bloom, she puts it in her breast, and lets my flowers die. I call to her. She does not hear me. She is thinking. You whisper to someone far away, and she hears and smiles. She used to kiss me sometimes.

Now she kisses that white brat you brought, because you brought it. Oh, I see it all, all. I have seen it from the first. You are stealing her from us, stealing her to yourself, and those who loved her before you came after. forgotten. Be careful, Makumazan, be careful, lest I am revenged upon you. You, you hate me, you think me half a monkey. That servant of yours calls me baboon woman. Well, I have lived with baboons, and they are clever. Yes, they can play tricks and know things you don't, and I am cleverer than they, for I have learned the wisdom of white people. also, and I say to you, walk softly macumazan, or you will fall into a pit.

And with one more look of malice, she was gone. I stood for a moment reflecting. I was afraid of this strange creature, who seemed to combine the cunning of the great apes that had reared her with the passions and skill of humankind. I forboded evil at her hands, and yet there was something almost touching in the fierceness of her jealousy. It is generally supposed that this passion only exists in strength when the object to loved is of another sex from the lover,

but I confess that, both in this instance and in some others which I have met with, this has not been my experience. I have known men, and especially uncivilised men, who were as jealous of the affection of their friend or master as any lover could be of his mistress. and who has not seen cases of the same thing, where parents and their children were concerned. But the lower one gets in the scale of humanity,

the more readily this passion thrives. Indeed, it may be said to come to its intensest perfection in brutes. Women are more jealous than men, small-hearted men are more jealous than those of larger mind and wider sympathy, and animals are the most jealous of all. Now Hendrika was in some ways not far removed from an animal, which may perhaps account for the ferocity of her jealousy of her mistress's affection. Shaking off my presentiment of evil, I entered the centre hut.

Mr Carson was resting on the sofa, and by him knelt Stella, holding his hand, and her head resting on his breast. I saw at once that she had been telling him of what had come about between us, nor was I sorry, for it is a task that a would-be son-in-law is generally glad to do by deputy. "'Come here, Alan Quatermain,' he said almost sternly, and my heart gave a jump, for I feared lest he might be about to require me to go about my business, but I came. "'Stella tells me,' he went on, "'that you two have entered into a marriage engagement.

She tells me also that she loves you and that you say that you love her. I do indeed, sir, I broke in. I love her truly. If ever a woman was loved in this world, I love her. I thank heaven for it, said the old man. Listen, my children. Many years ago, a great shame and sorrow fell upon me, so great a sorrow that as I sometimes think it affected my brink.

reign. At any rate, I determined to do what most men would have considered the act of a madman, to go far away into the wilderness with my only child, there to live remote from civilization and its evils. I did so. I found this place, and here we have lived for many years, happily enough, and perhaps not without doing good in our generation. But still, in a way unnatural to our race and status. At first I thought that I would let my daughter grow up in a state of complete ignorance, that she should be nature's child. But as time went on, I saw the folly and the wickedness of my plan.

I had no right to degrade her to the level of the savages around me, for if the fruit of the tree of knowledge is a bitter fruit, still it teaches good from evil. So I educated her as well as I was able, till in the end I knew that in mind has embodied she was in no way inferior to her sisters, the children of the civilised world. She grew up and entered into womanhood, and then it came into my mind that I was doing her a bitter wrong, that I was separating her from her kind, at keeping her in a wilderness where she could find neither mate nor companion. But though I knew this, I could not yet make up my mind to

return to active life. I had grown to love this place. I dreaded to return into the world I had abjured. Again and again I put my resolutions aside. Then, at the commencement of this year, I fell ill. For a while I waited, hoping that I might get better, but at last I realized, I realized. that I should never get better, that the hand of death was upon me. Ah, no, father, not that, Stella said with a cry. Yes, love, that, and it is true. Now you will be able to forget our separation in the happiness of a new meeting, and he glanced at me and smiled.

Well, when this knowledge came home to me, I determined to abandon this place, and trek for the coast, though I well knew that the journey would kill me. I should never live to reach it, but Stella would, and it would be better than leaving her here, alone with savages in the wilderness. On the very day that I had made up my mind to take this step, Stella found you dying in the bad lands, Alan Quatermain, and brought you here. She brought you, of all men in the world, you, whose father had been my dear,

Dear friend, and who once with your baby hands had saved her life from fire that she might live to save yours from thirst. At the time I said little, but I saw the hand of providence in this, and I determined to wait and see what came about between you. At the worst, if nothing came about, I soon learned that I could trust you to see her safely to the coast after I was gone. but many days ago I knew how it stood between you and now things are determined as I prayed they might be. God bless you both, my children. May you be happy in your love. May it endure till death and beyond it.

God bless you both. And he stretched out his hand towards me. I took it and Stella kissed him. Presently he spoke again, "'It is my intention,' he said, "'if you two consent, to marry you next Sunday. "'I wish to do so soon, "'for I do not know how much longer will be allowed to me.

"'I believe that such a ceremony "'solomely celebrated and entered into before witnesses "'will, under the circumstances, be perfectly legal. "'But of course you will repeat it with every formality, "'the first moment it lies in your power so to do. And now there is one more thing. When I left England, my fortunes were in a shattered condition. In the course of years they have recovered themselves.

The accumulated rents, as I heard but recently, when the wagons last returned from Port Natal, have sufficed to pay off all charges, and there is a considerable balance over. Consequently, you will not marry on nothing, for of course you, Stella, Am I heiress, and I wish to make a stipulation. It is this, that so soon as my death occurs, you shall leave this place,

and take the first opportunity of returning to England. I do not ask you to live there always. It might prove too much for people reared in the wilds, as both of you have been, but I do ask you to make it your permanent home. Do you consent and promise this? I do, I answered. And so do I, said Stella. Very well, he answered.

And now, I am tired out again. God bless you both. And good night. End of part nine. Part 10 of Alan's Wife and Other Tales by H. Rider Haggard. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Alan's Wife, Chapter 10. Hendrika plots evil.

On the following morning, I had a conversation with Indabazimbi. First of all, I told him that I was going to marry Stella. Oh, he said, I thought so, Makamazan, did I not tell you that you would find happiness on this journey? Most men must be content to watch the star from a long way off. To you it is given to wear her on your heart. But remember, Makumazan, remember that stars set. Can you not stop your croaking even for a day? I answered angrily, for his word sent a thrill of fear through me. A true prophet must tell the ill as well as the good macumazan. I only speak what is on my mind.

But what of it? What is life but loss? Loss upon loss to life itself be lost. But in death we may find all the things that we have lost. So your father taught Makumazan, and there was wisdom in his gentleness. I do not believe in death. It is change, that is all, Makumazan. Look now, the rain falls, the drops of rain that were one water, in the clouds, falls side by side, they sink into the ground. Presently the sun will come out, the earth will be dry, the drops will be dry, the drops will be be gone. A fool looks and says, the drops are dead, they will never be one again, they will never

again fall side by side. But I am a rainmaker and I know the ways of rain. It is not true, the drops will drain by many paths into the river and will be one water there. They will go up into the clouds again in the midst of morning, and there will again be as they have been. We are the drops of rain, Makumazan. When we fall, that is our life. When we sink into the ground, that is death. And when we are drawn up again through the sky, what is that, Magumazan? No, no, when we find we lose, and when we seem to lose,

then we shall really find. I am not a Christian, Makumazan, but I am old, and have watched and seen things that perhaps Christians do not see. There, I have spoken, be happy with your star, and if it sets, wait, macumazan, wait till it rises again. It will not be long. One day you will go to sleep, then your eyes will open on another sky. There your star will be shining, Macamazan.

I made no answer at the time. I could not bear to talk of such a thing, but often and often in the after years I have thought of Indabazimbi and his beautiful simile and gathered comfort from it. He was a strange man this old rain-making savage, and there was more wisdom in him than in many learned atheists, those spiritual destroyers who in the name of progress and humanity would divorce hope from life and leave us wandering in a lonesome, self-consecrated hell. "'In Dabazimbi,' I said, changing the subject. "'I have something to say, and I told him of the threats of Hendrika.' He listened with an unmoved face, nodding his white lock at intervals as the narrative went on,

but I saw that he was disturbed by it. "'Makumazan,' he said at length, I have told you that this is an evil woman. She was nourished on baboon milk, and the baboon nature is in her veins. Such creatures should be killed, not kept. She will make you mischief if she can, but I will watch her macumazan.

Look, the star is waiting for you. Go, or she will hate me as Hendrika hates you. So I went, nothing loathe. For attractive as was the wisdom of Avindabazimbi, I found a deeper meaning in Stella's simplest word. All the rest of that day I passed in her company and the greater part of the two following days. At last came Saturday night, the eve of our marriage.

It rained that night, so we did not go out, but spent the evening in the hut. We sat hand in hand, saying little, but Mr Carson talked a good deal, telling us tales of his youth, and of countries that he had visited. Then he read aloud from the Bible and bade us good night. I also kissed Stella and went to bed. I reached my hut by the covered way, and before I undressed, opened the door to see what the night was like. It was very dark and rain was still falling, but as the light steamed out into the gloom,

I fancied that I caught sight of a dusky form gliding away. The thought of Hendrika flashed into my mind. Could she be skulking about outside there? Now I had said nothing of Hendrika and her threats, either to Mr. Carson or Stella, because I did not wish to alarm them. Also, I knew that Stella was attached to this strange person, and I did not wish to shake her confidence in her

unless it was absolutely necessary. For a minute or two I stood hesitating, then, reflecting that if it was Hendrika, there she should stop. I went in and put up the stout wooden bar that were used to secure the door. For the last few nights old Lindabazimbi had made a habit of sleeping in the covered passage,

which was the only other possible way of access. As I came to bed, I had stepped over him, rolled up, in his blanket, and to all appearance fast asleep. So, it's being evidence that I had nothing to fear, I promptly dismissed the matter from my mind, which, as may be imagined, was indeed fully occupied with other thoughts. I got into bed and for a while lay awake,

thinking of the great happiness in store for me and of the providential course of events that had brought it within my reach. A few weeks since, and I was wandering in the desert a dying man, bearing a dying child, and with scarcely a possession left in the world, except a store of buried ivory that I never expected to see again. And now I was about to wed one of the sweetest and loveliest women on the whole earth, a woman whom I loved more than I could have thought possible, and who loved me back again. Also, as though that were not good fortune enough, I was to acquire a woman,

with her, very considerable possessions, quite sufficiently large to enable us to follow any plan of life we found agreeable. As I lay and reflected on all this, I grew afraid of my good fortune. Old Indabazimbi's melancholy prophecies came into my mind. Hitherto, he had always prophesied truly, what if these should be true also. I turned cold as I thought of it, and prayed to the power of above to preserve us both to live and love together. Never was prayer more needed. While its words were still upon my lips, I dropped to sleep and dreamed a most dreadful dream. I dreamed that Stella and I were standing together to be married. She was dressed in white and radiant with beauty, but it was a wild spiritual beauty

which frightened me. Her eyes shone like stars, a pale flame played about her features, and the wind that blue did not stir her hair. Nor was this all, for her white robes were death-wrappings, and the altar at which we stood was formed of the piled up earth from an open grave that yawned between us. So we stood waiting for one to wed us, but no one came. Presently, from the open grave sprang the form of Hendrika. In her hand was a knife with which she stabbed at me, but pierced the heart of Stella, who, without a cry, fell backwards into the grave,

still looking at me as she fell. Then Hendrika leaped after her into the grave. I heard her feet strike heavily. "'Awake, Magumazan, awake!' cried the voice of Indaba Zimbi. I awoke and bounded from the bed, a cold perspiration pouring from me. In the darkness on the other side of the hut, I heard sounds of furious struggling. Luckily I kept my head, just by me was a chair on which were matches and a rushed taper. I struck a match and held it to the taper.

Now in the growing light I could see two forms rolling one over the other on the floor, and from between them came a flash of steel. The fat melted and the light burnt up. It was in Dabazimbi and the woman Hendrika who was struggling, and what was more, the woman was getting the better of the man, strong as he was. I rushed towards them. Now she was uppermost, now she had wrenched herself from his fierce grip, and now the great knife she had in her hand flashed up.

But I was behind her, and placing my hands beneath her arms, jerked with all my strength. She fell backwards, and, in her effort to save herself, most fortunately dropped the knife. Then we flung ourselves upon her. Heavens, the strength of that she-devil, nobody who has not experienced it could believe it. She fought and scratched and bit, and at one time nearly mastered the two of us. As it was, she did break loose. She rushed at the bed, sprung on it, and bounded then straight up at the roof of the hut.

I never saw such a jump and could not conceive what she meant to do. In the roof were the peculiar holes which I have described. They were designed to admit light and covered with overhanging eaves. She sprung straight and true like a monkey, and catching the edge of the hole with her hands, strove to draw herself through it. But here her strength, exhausted with the long struggle, failed her. For a moment she swung, then dropped to the ground and fell senseless. Ooh, gasped in Dabazimbi, let us tie the devil up before she comes to life again.

I thought this a good counsel, so we took a rhyme that lay in the corner of the room and lashed her hands and feet in such a fashion that even she could scarcely escape. Then we carried her into the passage, and in Dabazimbi sat over her, the knife in his hand, for I did not wish to raise an alarm at that hour of the night. Do you know how I caught her, Makumazan? he said, For several nights I have slept here with one eye open, for I thought she had made a plan. Tonight I kept wide awake, though I pretended to be asleep. An hour after you got into the blankets, the moon rose, and I saw a beam of light come into the hut through the hole in the roof.

Presently I saw the beam of light vanish. At first I thought that a cloud was passing over the moon, but I listened. and heard a noise as though someone was squeezing himself through a narrow place. Presently, he was through and hanging by his hands. Then the light came in again, and in the middle of it I saw the Babianfrau swinging from the roof and about to drop into the hut. She clung by both hands, and in her mouth was a great knife. She dropped and I ran forward to seize her as she dropped and gripped her round the middle.

But she heard me come, and seizing the knife, struck at me in the dark and missed me. Then we struggled, and you know the rest. You were very nearly dead tonight, Macomazan. Very nearly indeed, I answered, still panting and arranging the rags of my night-dress round me as best I might. Then the memory of my horrid dream flashed into my mind. Doubtless it had been conjured up by the sound of Hendrika dropping to the floor.

In my dream it had been a grave that she dropped into. All of it then had been experienced in that second of time. Well, dreams are swift. Perhaps time itself is nothing but a dream. A defence that seem far apart really occur simultaneously. We passed the rest of the night watching Hendrika. Presently she came to herself and struggled furiously to break the rhyme, but the untanned buffalo hide was too strong even for her,

and, moreover, Indabazimbi and ceremoniously sat upon her to keep her quiet. At last she gave it up. In due course the day broke, my marriage day, leaving in Dabazimbi to watch my would-be murdering, I went and fetched some natives from the stables, and with their aid bore Hendrika to the prison hut, that same hut in which she had been confined when she had been brought a baboon child from the rocks. Here we shut her up, and leaving in Dabazimbi to watch outside, I returned to my sleeping place and dressed in the best garments that Babian Kralz could furnish.

but when I looked at the reflection of my face I was horrified it was covered with scratches inflicted by the nails of Hendrika I doctored them up as best I could then went out for a walk to calm my nerves which what between the events of the past night and of those pending that day were not a little disturbed and I returned it was breakfast time

I went into the dining hut and there Stella was waiting to greet me, dressed in simple white and with orange flowers on her breast. She came forward to me shyly enough, then, seeing the condition of my face, started back. Why, Alan, what have you been doing to yourself? she asked. As I was about to answer, her father came in, leaning on his stick,

and catching sight of me instantly asked the same question. Then I told them everything, both of Hendrika's threats, and of her fierce attempt to carry them into execution, but I did not tell my horrid dream. Stella's face grew white as the flowers on her breast, but that of her father became very stern. "'You should have spoken of this before, Alan,' he said. "'I now see that I did wrong to attempt to civilise this wicked and revengeful creature, who, if she is, human, has all the evil passions of the brutes that reared her. Well, I will make an end of it this very day. Oh, father, said Stella, don't have her killed. It's all dreadful enough, but that would be more dreadful still. I have been very fond of her, and, bad as she is, she has loved me. Do not have her

killed on my marriage day. No, her father answered. She shall not be killed. but though she deserves to die i will not have her blood upon our hands she is a brute and has followed the nature of brutes she shall go back when she came No more was said on the matter at the time, but when breakfast, which was rather a farce, was done, Mr Carson sent for his headman and gave him certain orders. We were to be married after the service which Mr Carson held every Sunday morning in the large marble hut set apart for that purpose. The service began at ten o'clock, but long before that hour, all the natives on the place came up in troops, singing as they came to be present at the wedding of the star. It was a pretty sight to see them,

the men dressed in all their finery and carrying shields and sticks in their hands, and the women and children bearing green branches of trees, ferns and flowers. At length, about half-bast nine, Stella rose, pressed my hand and left me to my reflections. At a few minutes to ten she reappeared again, with her father, dressed in a white veil, a wreath of orange flowers on her dark curling hair, a bouquet of orange flowers in her hand. To me she seemed like a dream of loveliness. With her came little tota in a high state of glee and excitement. She was Stella's only bridesmaid. Then we all passed out towards the church hut. The bare space in front of it was

filled with hundreds of natives, who set up a song as we came. But we went on into the hut, which was crowded with such of the natives as usually worshipped there. Here Mr. Carson, as usual, read the service, though he was obliged to sit down in order to do so. When it was done, and to me it seemed interminable, Mr. Carson whispered that he meant to marry us outside the hut in sight of all the people. So we went out and, to be able to do so. We went out and Tukar stand under the shade of a large tree that grew near the hut, facing the bare space where the natives were gathered. Mr Carson held up his hand to enjoin silence.

Then, speaking in the native dialect, he told them that he was about to make us man and wife after the Christian fashion and in the sight of all men. This done, he proceeded to read the marriage service over us, and very solemnly and beautifully he did it. We said the words, I placed the ring, it was her father's signetering, for we had no other, upon Stella's finger, and it was done. Then Mr. Carson spoke, Alan and Stella, he said, I believe that the ceremony which has been performed makes you man and wife in the sight of God and man. For all that is necessary to make a marriage binding is that it should be celebrated according to the custom of the country where the parties to it reside.

It is according to the custom that has been in force here for fifteen years or more that you have been married in the face of all the people, and in token of it, you will both sign the register that I have kept of such marriages, among those of my people who have adopted the Christian faith. Still, in case there should be any legal flaw, I again demand the solemn promise of you both, that on the first opportunity you will cause this marriage

to be re-celebrated in some civilised land. Do you promise? We do, we answered. Then the book was brought out and we signed our names. At first my wife signed her as Stella only, but her father bade her write it Stella Carson for the first and last time in her life.

Then several of the Indunas or headmen, including old Indabazimbi put their marks in witness. Indabazimbi drew his mark in the shape of a little star, in humorous allusion to Stella's native name. The register is before me now as I write, that with a lock of my darling's hair which lies between its sleeves is my dearest possession. There are all the names and marks as they were written many years ago

beneath the shadow of the tree at Babian Krales in the wilderness. But alas, and alas, where are those who wrote them? My people, said Mr. Carson when the signing was done, and we had kissed each other before them all. My people, Magumazan and the Star, my daughter, are now man and wife, to live in one kraal, to eat of one bull, to share one fortune till they reached the grave.

"'Here now, my people, you know this woman!' And turning he pointed to Henrika, who unseen by us had been led out of the prison hut. "'Yes, yes, we know her,' said a little ring of headman, who formed the primitive court of justice, and after the fashion of natives had squatted themselves in a circle on the ground in front of us. "'We know her, she is the white Babian woman.

She is Henrika, the body servant of the star.' "'You know her,' said Mr. Carson, "'but you do not know her altogether. "'Stand forward in Dabazimbi, "'and tell the people what came about "'last night in the hut of Makumazan.' "'Accordingly, old Indabazimbi came forward "'and squatting down,

"'told his moving tail with much descriptive force "'and many gestures, "'finishing up by producing the great knife "'from which his watchfulness had saved me, Then I was called upon, and in a few brief words, substantiated his story. Indeed, my face did that in the sight of all men. Then Mr. Carson turned to Hendrika, who stood in sullen silence, her eyes fixed upon the ground, and asked her if she had anything to say.

She looked up boldly and answered, "'Macumazan has robbed me of the love of my mistress. I would have robbed him of his life, which is a little thing compared to that which I have lost at his hands. I have failed, and I am sorry for it, but had I killed him and left no trace, the star would have forgotten him and shone on me again. Never, murmured Stella in my ear, but Mr Carson turned white with wrath. My people, he said, you hear the words of this woman, you hear how she pays me back, me and my daughter, whom she swears she loves. She says that she would have murdered a man who has done her no evil, the man who is husband of her mistress.

We saved her from the babians, we tamed her, we fed her, we taught her, and this is how she pays us back. Say, my people, what reward should be given to her? Death, said the circle of Indunas, pointing their thumbs downwards, and all the multitude beyond echoed the word, death. Death, repeated the head in Duna, adding, If you save her, my father, we will slay her with our own hands. She is a Babian woman, a devil woman. Ah, yes, we have heard of such before.

Let her be slain before. she works more evil. Then it was that Snella stepped forward and begged for Hendrika's life in moving terms. She pleaded the savagery of the woman's nature, her long service, and the affection she had always shown towards herself. She said that I, whose life had been attempted, forgave her, and she, my wife, who had nearly been left a widow,

before she was made a bride, forgave her. Let them forgive her also. Let her be sent away, not slain. Let not her marriage day be stained with blood. Now her father listened readily enough, for he had no intention of killing Hendrika. Indeed, he had already promised not to do so. But the people were in a different humour.

They looked upon Hendrika as a devil, and would have torn her to pieces there and then, could they have had their way. nor were matters mended by Indabazimbi, who had already gained a great reputation for wisdom and magic in the place. Suddenly the older man rose and made quite an impassioned speech, urging them to kill Hendrika at once, or mischief would come of it. At last, matters got very bad,

for two of the Indunas came forward to drag her off to execution, and it was not until Stella burst into her. tears that the sight of her grief, backed by Mr. Carson's orders and my own remonstrances, carried the day. All this while, Hendrika had been standing quite unmoved. At last the tumult ceased, and the leading Induna called her to go, promising that if ever she showed her face near the kraals again, she should be stabbed like a jackal. Then Hendrika spoke to Stella in a low voice and in English. Better let them kill me, mistress, better for all.

Without you to love, I shall go mad and become a babian again. Stella did not answer, and they loosed her. She stepped forward and looked at the natives with a stare of hate. Then she turned and walked past me, and as she passed, whispered a native phrase in my ear that being literally translated means till another moon, but it has the same significance as the French au revoir. It frightened me, for I knew she meant that she had not done with me,

and saw that our mercy was misplaced. Seeing my face change, she ran swiftly from me, and as she passed in Dabazimbi, with a sudden movement, snatched her great knife from his hand. When she had gone about twenty paces, she halted, looked long and earnestly on Stella, gave one loud cry as of anguish, and fled. A few minutes later we saw her far away, bounding up the face of an almost perpendicular cliff, a cliff that nobody except herself and the baboons could possibly climb.

"'Look,' said Indaba Zimbi in my ear, Look, Macumazan, there goes the Babian frau. But Macumazan, she will come back again, and why will you not listen to my words? Have they not always been true words, Macumazan? And he shrugged his shoulders and turned away. For a while I was much disturbed, but at any rate, Hendrika was gone for the present,

and Stella, my dear and lovely wife, was there at my side. and in her smiles I forgot my fears. For the rest of that day, why should I write of it? There are things too happy and too sacred to be written of. At last I had, if only for a little while, found that rest, that perfect joy which we seek so continually and so rarely clasp. End of Part 10.

Part 11 of Alan's wife and other tale. by H. Rider Haggard. This Librevoct recording is in the public domain. Alan's wife, Chapter 11. Gone. I wonder if many married couples are quite as happy as we found ourselves. Cynics, a growing class, declare that few illusions can survive a honeymoon. Well, I do not know about it,

for I only married once and can but speak from my limited experience. But certainly our illusion, or rather the great truth of which it is a shadow, did survive, as to this day it survives in my heart across the years of utter separation and across the unanswering gulf of doom. But complete happiness is not allowed in this world, even for an hour. As our marriage day had been shadowed by the scene which has been described, so our married life was shadowed by its own. sorrow. Three days after our wedding, Mr. Carson had a stroke. It had been long impending,

now it fell. We came into the centre hut to dinner, and found him lying speechless on the couch. At first I thought that he was dying, but this was not so. On the contrary, within four days he recovered his speech and some power of movement. But he never recovered his memory, though he still knew Stella and sometimes myself. Curiously enough, he remembered little Tota best of all three, though occasionally he thought that she was his own daughter in her childhood and would ask her where her mother was. This state of affairs lasted for some seven months.

The old man gradually grew weaker, but he did not die. Of course, his condition quite precluded the idea of our leaving Babian Krales. till all was over. This was the more distressing to me, because I had a nervous presentiment that Stella was incurring danger by staying there, and also because the state of her health rendered it desirable that we should reach a civilised region as soon as possible.

However, it could not be helped. At length the end came very suddenly. We were sitting one evening by Mr Carson's bedside in his hut, when to our astonishment he sat up and spoke in a strong full voice. I hear you, he said. Yes, yes, I forgive you, poor woman, you two have suffered. And he fell back dead. I have little doubt that he was addressing his lost wife,

some vision of whom had flashed across his dying sense. Stella, of course, was overwhelmed with grief at a loss. till I came her father had been her sole companion and therefore, as may be imagined, the tie between them was much closer than his usual, even in the case of father and daughter. So deeply did she mourn that I began to fear for the effect upon her health.

Nor were we the only ones to grieve. All the natives of the settlement called Mr Carson father, and as a father they lamented him, The air resounded with the wailing of women, and the men went about with bowed heads, saying that the sun had set in the heavens. Now only the star, stellar, remained. In Dabazimbi alone did not mourn. He said that it was best that the incoose should die,

for what was life worth when one lay like a log. Moreover, that it would have been well for all if he had died sooner. On the following day we buried him in the little graveyard near the waterfall. It was a sad business, and Stella cried very much, in spite of all I could do to comfort her. That night as I sat outside the hut smoking, for the weather was hot and Stella was lying down inside, old indaba Zimbi came up, saluted, and squatted at my feet.

What is it in Dabazimbi? I said. This, macumazan, When are you going to trek towards the coast? I don't know, I answered. The star is not fit to travel now. We must wait a while. No, Macumazan, you must not wait. You must go, and the star must take her chance.

She is strong, it is nothing, all will be well. Why do you say so? Why must we go? For this reason, Macumazan, and he looked cautiously round, and spoke low. The baboons have come back in thousands. All the mountain is full of them. I did not know that they had gone, I said. Yes, he answered. They went after the marriage, all but one or two. Now they are back. All the baboons in the world, I think. I saw a whole

cliff, black with them. Is that all? I said, for I saw that he had something behind. I am not afraid of a pack of baboons. No, Macumazan, it is not all. The babian frau, Hendrika, is with them. Now nothing had been heard or seen of Hendrika since her expulsion, and though at first she and her threats had haunted me somewhat, by degrees she, to a great extent, had passed out of my mind, which was fully preoccupied with Stella and my father-in-law's illness.

I started violently. How do you know this? I asked. I know it because I saw her, Macumazan. She is disguised. She is dressed up in baboon skins, and her face is stained dark. But though she was a long way off, I knew her by her size,

and I saw the white flesh of her arm when the skins slipped aside. She has come back, Makumazan, with all the baboons in the world, and she has come back to do evil. Now do you understand why you should check. Yes, I said, though I don't see how she and the baboons can harm us, I think that it will be better to go. If necessary, we can camp the wagons somewhere for a while on the journey.

Harkin in Dabazimbi, say nothing of this to the star. I will not have her frightened, and hearken in. "'speak to the headmen and see that watchers are set all round the huts and gardens "'and kept their night and day. "'Tomorrow we will get the wagons ready, and next day we will trek.' "'He nodded his white lock and went to do my bidding, "'leaving me not a little disturbed, unreasonably so indeed. "'It was a strange story that this woman had the power of conversing with baboons I knew.'

Editor's note, for an instance of this, see Anderson's 25 years in a wagon, Volume 1, page 262. End of editor's note. That was not so very wonderful, seeing that the Bushmen claimed to be able to do the same thing, and she had been nurtured by them, but that she had been able to muster them, and by the strength of her human will and intelligence, muster them in order to forward her ends of revenge,

seemed to me so incredible that after reflection my fears grew lights. Still, I determined to trek. After all, a journey in an oxwagon would not be such a very terrible thing to a strong woman accustomed to roughing it, whatever her state of health. And when all was said and done, I did not like this tale of the presence of Hendrica with countless hosts of baboons. So I went in to Stella. and without saying a word to her of the baboon's story,

told her I had been thinking matters over, and had come to the conclusion that it was our duty to follow her father's instructions to the letter and leave Babian Kralz at once. Into all our talk I need not enter, but the end of it was that she agreed with me and declared that she could quite well manage the journey, saying moreover that now that her dear father was dead,

she would be glad to get away. Nothing happened to disturb us that night, and on the following morning I was up early, making preparations. The despair of the people when they learned that we were going to leave them was something quite pitiable. I could only console them by declaring that we were but on a journey and would return the following year. They had lived in the shadow of their father, who was dead,

they declared. Ever since they were little they had lived in his shadow. He had received them when they were outcasts and wanderers, without a mat to lie on or a blanket to cover them, and they had grown fat in his shadow. Then he had died, and the star, their father's daughter, had married me, Makumazan, and they had believed that I should take their father's place

and let them live in my shadow. What should they do when they were, was no one to protect them. The tribes were kept from attacking them by fear of the white man. If we went, they would be eaten up, and so on. Alas, there was but too much foundation for their fears. I returned to the huts at midday to get some dinner. Stella said that she was going to pack during the afternoon, so I did not think it's necessary to caution her about going out alone, as I did not wish to allude to the subject of Hendrika and the baboons, unless I was obliged to.

I told her, however, that I would come back to help her as soon as I could get away. Then I went down to the native kraals to sort out such cattle as had belonged to Mr. Carson from those which belonged to the kaffirs, for I proposed to take them with us. It was a large herd, and the business took an incalculable time. At length, a little before sundown, I gave it up, and leaving in Dabazimbi to finish the job, got on my horse and rode homewards. Arriving, I gave the horse to one of the stable boys and went into the central hut. There was no sign of Stella, though the things she had been packing lay about the floor. I passed first into our sleeping hut, thence, one by one into all the others, but still saw no sign of her.

Then I went out, and calling to a kaffir in the garden, asked him if he had seen his mistress. He answered yes, he had seen her carrying flowers and walking towards the graveyard, holding the little white girl, my daughter, as he called her, by the hand, when the sun stood there, and he pointed to a spot on the horizon, where it would have been about an hour and a half before. The two dogs were with them, he added. I turned and ran towards the graveyard, which was about a quarter of a mile from the huts. Of course there was no reason to be anxious.

Evidently, she had gone to lay the flowers on her father's grave, and yet I was anxious. When I got near the graveyard, I met one of the natives, who by my orders had been set round the kraals to watch the place, and noticed that he was rubbing his eyes and yawning. Clearly he had been asleep, I asked him if he had seen his mistress, and he answered that he had not, which under the circumstances was not wonderful. Without stopping to reproach him, I ordered the man to follow me and went on to the graveyard.

There on Mr. Carson's grave lay the drooping flowers which Stella had been carrying, and there in the fresh mould was the spore of Toter's feltzschon, or hide-slipper, but where were they? I ran from the graveyard and called aloud at the top of my voice, but no answer came. Meanwhile, the native was more profitably engaged in tracing their spoor. He followed it for about a hundred yards till he came to a clump of mimosa bush that was situated between the stream and the ancient marble quarries, just above the waterfall and at the mouth of the ravine. Here he stopped, and I heard him give a startled cry.

I rushed to the spot, passed through the trees, and saw this. The little open space in the centre of the glade had been the scene of a struggle. There, in the soft earth, were the marks of three pairs of human feet, two shod, one naked, Stellars, Totus, and Hendrikas. Nor was this all. There, close by, lay the fragments of the two dogs. They were nothing more, and one, baboon not yet quite dead, which had been bitten in the throat by the dogs. All round was the spore of numberless baboons. The full horror of what had happened flashed into my mind.

My wife and Tota had been carried off by the baboons, and yet they had not been killed, for if so, their remains would have been found with those of the dogs. They had been carried off. The brutes acting under the direction of that woman monkey, Hendrika, had dragged them away to some secret den, there to keep them till they died, or kill them. For a moment I literally staggered beneath the terror of the shock. Then I roused myself from my despair. I bade the native run and alarm the people at the kraals,

telling them to come armed and bring me guns and ammunition, He went like the wind, and I turned to follow the spore. For a few yards it was plain enough, Stella had been dragged along. I could see where her heels had struck the ground. The child had, I presumed, being carried. At least there were no marks of her feet. At the water's edge the spore vanished.

The water was shallow, and they had gone along in it, or at least Hendrika and her victims had, in order to obliterate the trail. I could see where a moss-grown stone had been freshly turned over in the waterbed. I ran along the bank, some way up the ravine, in the vain hope of catching a sight of them.

Presently I heard a bark in the cliffs above me. It was answered by another, and then I saw that scores of baboons were hidden about among the rocks on either side and were slowly swinging themselves down to bar the path. To go on unarmed as I was would be useless. I should only be torn to pieces as the dogs had been, so I turned and fled back towards the huts.

As I drew near, I could see that my messenger had roused the settlement, for natives with spears and carries in their hands were running up towards the kraals. When I reached the hut, I met old Inns, Abazimbi, who wore a very serious face. So, the evil has fallen, Makumazan, he said. It has fallen, I answered. Keep a good heart, Makumazan, he said again. She is not dead, nor is the little maid,

and before they die we shall find them. Remember this, Hendrika loves her. She will not harm her, or allow the babesion. yarns to harm her. She will try to hide her away from you. That is all. Pray God that we may find her, I groaned. The light is going fast. The moon rises in three hours, he answered. We will search by moonlight. It is useless to start now. See, the sun sinks. Let us get the men together. Eat and make things ready. Hambagatchle,

he says slowly Makumazahn. As there was no help, I took his advice. I could eat no food, but I packed some up to take with us and made ready ropes and a rough kind of litter. If we found them,

they would scarcely be able to walk. Ah, if we found them, how slowly the time passed, it seemed hours before the most, moon rose, but at last it did rise. Then we started. In all we were about a hundred men, but we only mustered five guns between us, my elephant roar, and four that should belong to Mr Carson. End of Part 11. Part 12 of Alan's Wife and Other Tales by H. Rider Haggard.

This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Alan's wife, chapter 12, the magic of Indaba Zimbi. We gained the spot by the stream where Stella had been taken. The natives looked at the torn fragments of the dogs and at the marks of violence, and I heard them swearing to each other at whether the star lived or died, they would not rest till they had exterminated every baboon on Babian's peak. I echoed the oath, and, as shall be seen, we can. kept it. We started along the stream, following the spore of the baboons as best we could,

but the stream left no spore and the hard rocky banks very little. Still we wandered on. All night we wandered through the lonely moonlit valleys, startling the silence into a thousand echoes with our cries. But no answer came to them. In vain our eyes searched the sides of precipices formed of water-riven rock fantastically piled one upon another. In vain we searched through endless stels and fern-clad crannies. There was nothing to be found. How could we expect to find two human beings hidden away in the recesses of this fast stretch of mountain ground which no man yet had ever fully explored? They were lost, and in all human probability, lost for ever. To and fro we wandered hopelessly, till at last dawn found us foot-sore and weary, nearly at the spot whence we had started. We sat down waiting for the

santa rise, and the men ate of such food as they had brought with them, and sent to the karls for more. I sat upon a stone with breaking heart, I cannot describe my feelings. Let the reader put himself in my position, and perhaps he may get some idea of them. Near me was old Indabazimbi, who sat staring straight before him, as though he were looking into space and taking note of what went on there. An idea struck me. This man had some occult power. Several times during our adventures, he had prophesied, and in every case his prophecies had proved true.

He it was who, when we escaped from the Zulu impetus, had told me to steer north, because there we should find the place of a white man who lived under the shadow of a great peak that was full of baboons. Perhaps he could help in this extremity. At any rate, it was worth trying. In Dabazimbi, I said, you say that you can send your spirit through the doors of space and see what we cannot see. At the least I know that you can do strange things. Can you not help me now? If you can you. you can and we'll save her, I will give you half the cattle that we have here. I never said anything of the sort, Macumazan, he answered.

I do things. I do not talk about them. Neither do I seek reward for what I do, like a common witch doctor. It is well that you have asked me to use my wisdom, macumazan, for I should not have used it again without being asked. No, not even for the sake of the star and yourself, whom I love, for if so my spirit would have been angry. In the other matters I had a part, for my life was concerned as well as yours, but in this matter I have no part, and therefore I might

not use my wisdom unless you thought well to call upon my spirit. However, it would have been no good to ask me before, for I have only just found the herb I want. And he produced a handful of the leaves of a plant that was unfamiliar to me. It had little prickly leaves, shaped much like those of the common English nettle. Now, Makumazan, he went on, bid the men leave us alone, and then follow me presently

to the little glade down there by the water. I did so. When I reached the glade I found in Dabazimbi kindling a small fire under the shadow of a tree by the edge of the water. Sit there, Makumazan. "'I said, pointing to a stone near the fire, "'and do not be surprised or frightened at anything you see.

"'If you move or call out, we shall learn nothing.' "'I sat down and watched. "'When the fire was alight and burning brightly, "'the old fellow stripped himself stark naked, "'and, going to the foot of the pool, "'dipped himself in the water. "'Then he came back shivering with the cold "'and, leaning over the little fire,

thrust leaves of the plant I have mentioned into his mouth, and began to chew them, muttering as he chewed. Most of the remaining leaves he threw onto the fire. A dense smoke rose from them, but he held his head in this smoke and drew it down into his lungs, till I saw that he was exhibiting every sign of suffocation. The veins in his throat and chest swelled. He gasped loudly, and his eyes, from which tears were streaming, seemed as though they were going to start from his head. Presently, he fell over on his side and lay senseless. I was terribly alarmed, and my first impulse was to run to his assistance, but fortunately I remembered his caution and sat quiet. In Dabazimbi lay on the ground like a person quite dead. His limbs had all the

utter relaxation of death, but as I watched I saw them begin to stiffen, exactly as though rigor mortis had set in. Then to my astonishment I perceived them once more relax, and this time there appeared upon his chest the stain of decomposition. It spread and spread. In three minutes, the man, to all appearance, was a livid corpse. I sat amazed, watching this uncanny sight, and wondering if any further natural process was about to be enacted. Perhaps Indabazimbi was going to fall to dust before my eyes. As I watched, I observed that the discoloration was beginning to fade. First it vanished from the extremities, then from the larger limbs,

and lastly from the trunk. Then in turn came the third stage of relaxation, the second stage of stiffness or rigor, and the first stage of after-death. collapse. When all these had rapidly succeeded each other, in Dabazimbi quietly woke up. I was too astonished to speak. I simply looked at him with my mouth open. Well, Macumazan, he said, putting his head on one side like a bird and nodding his white lock in a comical fashion. It is all right. I have seen her.

Seen who? I said. The star, your wife, and the little maid. They are much frightened but unharmed. The Babianfrau watches them. She is mad, but the baboons obey her and do not hurt them. The star was sleeping from weariness, so I whispered in her ear and told her not to be frightened, for you would soon rescue her, and that meanwhile she must seem to be pleased to have Hendrika near her. You whispered in her ear, I said. How could you whisper in her? in her ear. Bah, Makumazan, how could I seem to die and go rotten before your eyes? You don't know, do you? Well, I will tell you one thing. I had to die to pass the doors of space, as you call

them. I had to draw all the healthy strength and life from my body in order to gather power to speak with the star. It was a dangerous business, Makumazan, for if I had let things go a little further, they must have stopped so, and there would have been an end of Indabazimbi. Ah, you white men, you know so much that you think you know everything, but you don't. You are always staring at the clouds, and can't see the things that lie at your feet. You hardly believe me now, do you, Macamazan? Well, I will show you. Have you anything on you that the star has touched or worn?

I thought for a moment and said that I had a lock of her hair in my pocketbook. He told me to give it him. I did so. Going to the fire, he lit the lock of hair in the flame and let it burn to ashes, which he caught in his left hand. These ashes he mixed up in a paste with the juice of one of the leaves of the plant I have spoken of. Now, Makumazan, shut your eyes, he said. I did so, and he wrote. his paste onto my eyelids. At first it burnt me, and my head swam strangely. Presently,

this effect passed off, and my brain was perfectly clear again, but I could not feel the ground with my feet. Indabazimbi led me to the side of the stream. Beneath us was a pool of beautifully clear water. Look into the pool, Makumazan, said Indabazimbi, and his voice sounded hollow and far away. in my ears. I looked, the water grew dark, it cleared, and in it was a picture. I saw a cave with a fire burning in it. Against the wall of the cave rested Stella. Her dress was torn almost off her. She looked dreadfully pale and weary, and her eyelids were red as though with weeping. But she slept, and I could almost think that I saw her lips shape my name in her sleep. Close to her, her head upon Stella's breast, was little tota.

She had her skin thrown over her to keep out the night cold. The child was awake and appeared to be moaning with fear. By the fire, and in such a position that the light fell full upon her face and engaged in cooking something in a rough pot, shaped from wood, sat the baboon woman Hendrika. She was clothed in baboon skins and her face, had been rubbed with some dark stain, which was, however, wearing off it. In the intervals of her cooking, she would turn on Stella her wild eyes,

in which glared visible madness with an expression of tenderness that amounted to worship. Then she would stare at the poor child and gnash her teeth as though with hate. Clearly she was jealous of it. Round the entrance arch of the cave peeped and peered the heads of many baboons, Presently, Henrika made a sign to one of them. Apparently she did not speak, or rather grunt, in order not to wake Stella. The brute hopped forward, and she gave it a second rude wooden pot, which was lying by her. It took it and went.

The last thing that I saw, as the vision slowly vanished from the pool, was the dim shadow of the baboon, returning with the pot full of water. Presently everything had gone. I ceased to feel strange. There beneath me was the pool, and at my side stood in Dabazimbi, smiling. You have seen things, he said. I have, I answered, and made no further remark on the matter. What was there to say? Editor's footnote.

For some almost equally remarkable instances of kaffir magic, the reader is referred to a work named Among the Zulus by David Leslie. End of footnotes. Do you know the path to the cave? I added. He nodded his head. I did not follow it at all just now, because it's whines, he said. But I know it. We shall want the ropes. Then let us be starting, the men have eaten.

He nodded his head again, and going to the men I told them to make ready, adding that Indaba Zimbi knew the way. They said that was all right. If Indabazimbi had smelt her out, they should soon find the star. So we started cheerfully enough, and my spirits were so much improved that I was able to eat a boiled mealy cob or two as we walked.

We went up the valley, following the course of the stream for about a mile. Then Indabazimbi made a sudden turn to the right, along another clove, of which there were countless numbers in the base of the Great Hill. On we went through clough after clove. Indabazimbi, who led us, was never at a loss. He turned up gullies and struck across necks of hills,

with the certainty of a hound on a hot scent. At length, after about three hours march, we came to a big silent valley on the northern slope of the Great Peak. On one side of this valley was a series of stone, copies. On the other wrote the sheer wall of rock. We marched along the wall for a distance of some two miles,

then suddenly in Dabazimbi halted. This is the place, he said, pointing to an opening in the cliff. This opening was about 40 feet from the ground and ellipse shaped. It cannot have been more than 20 feet high by 10 wide, and was partially hidden by ferns and bushes that grew about

it in the surface of the cliff. keen as my eyes were i doubt if i should ever have noticed it for there were many such cracks and crannies in the rocky face of that great mountain we drew near and looked carefully at the place the first thing i noticed was that the rock which was not quite perpendicular had been worn by the continual passage of baboons the second that something white was hanging on a bush near the top of the ascent it was a pocket-handkerchief Now there was no more doubt about the matter. With a beating heart I began the ascent. For the first 20 feet it was comparatively easy for the rock shelved. The next ten feet was very difficult, but still possible to an active man,

and I achieved it, followed by Indaba Zimbi. But the last twelve or fifteen feet could only be scaled by throwing a rope over the trunk of a stunted tree which grew at the bottom of the opening. This we accomplished with some trouble, and the rest was easy. A foot or two above my head, the handkerchief fluttered in the wind. Hanging to the rope, I grasped it. It was my wife's.

As I did so, I noticed the face of a baboon peering at me over the edge of the cleft, the first baboon we had seen that morning. The brute gave a bark and vanished. Thrusting the handkerchief into my breast, I set my feet against the cliff and scrambled up as hard as I could go. I knew that we had no time to lose, for the baboon would quickly alarm the others. I gained the cleft, it was a mere arched passage cut by water, ending in a gully which led to a wide-open space of some sort.

I looked through the passage and saw that the gully was black with baboons. On they came by the hundred. I unslung my elephant, gun from my shoulders and waited, calling to the men below to come up with all possible speed. The brutes streamed on down the gloomy gulf towards me, barking, grunting and showing their huge teeth. I waited till they were within fifteen yards, then I fired the elephant gun, which was loaded with slugs, right into the thick of them. In that narrow place the report echoed like a cannon shot, but its sound was quickly swallowed in the volley of piercing human-sounding groans

and screams that followed. The charge of heavy slugs had ploughed through the host of baboons, of which at least a dozen lay dead or dying in the passage. For a moment they hesitated, then they came on again with a hideous clamour. Fortunately, by this time, in Dabazimbi, who also had a gun, was standing by my side. otherwise I should have been torn to pieces before I could reload. He fired both barrels into them and again checked the rush. But they came on again, and notwithstanding the appearance of two other natives with guns,

which they let off with more or less success, we should have been overwhelmed by the great and ferocious apes, had I not by this time succeeded in reloading the elephant's gun. When they were right on to us, I fired with even more, deadly effects than before, for at that distance, every slug told on their long line. The howls and screams of pain and rage were now something inconceivable. One might have thought that we were doing battle with a host of demons. Indeed, in that light, the overhanging arch of rock made it very dark.

The gnashing snouts and sombre glowing eyes of the apes looked like those of devils, as they are represented by monkish fancy. But the last shot was too much for them. They withdrew, dragging some of their wounded with them, and thus gave us time to get our men up the cliff. In a few minutes all were there, and we advanced down the passage, which presently opened into a rocky gully with shelving sides.

This gully had a waterway at the bottom of it. It was about a hundred yards long, and the slopes on either side was topped by precipitous cliffs. I looked at these slopes. They literally swarmed with baboons, grunting, barking, screaming, and beating their breasts with their long arms in fury.

I looked up the waterway, along it, accompanied by a mob, or, as it were, a guard of baboons, ran Hendrika, her long hair flying, madness written on her face, and in her arms was the senseless, form of little Tota. She saw us, and a foam of rage burst from her lips. She screamed aloud. To me, the sound was a mere inarticulate cry, but the baboons clearly understood it,

for they began to roll rocks down onto us. Wambolder leapt past me and struck down a cafe behind. Another fell from the roof of the arch onto a man's head and killed him. In Dabazimbi lifted his gun to shoot Hendrika. I knocked it up so that the shot went over her, crying that he would kill the child. Then I shouted to the men to open out and form a line from side to side of the shelving gully. Furious at the loss of their two comrades, they obeyed me, and keeping in the waterway myself, together with Indaba Zimbi and the other guns, I gave the word to charge. Then the real battle began. It is difficult to say who fought the most fiercely,

the natives or the baboons. The kaffirs charged along the slopes, and as they came, encouraged by the screams of Hendrika, who rushed to and fro, holding the wretched tota before her as a shield, the apes bounded at them in fury. Scores were killed by the Asagai's,

and many more fell beneath our gunshots. but still they came on. Nor did we go scaveless. Occasionally a man would slip or be pulled over in the grip of a baboon, then the others would fling themselves upon him like dogs on a rat and worry him to death. We lost five men in this way, and I myself received a bite through the fleshy part of the left arm,

but fortunately a native near me assegaied the animal before I was pulled down. At length, and all of a sudden, the baboons gave up. A panic seemed to seize them. Notwithstanding the cries of Hendrika, they thought no more of fight but only of escape. Some even did not attempt to get away from the assegais of the Caffirs. They simply hid their horrible faces in their paws, and a moaning, piteously, waited to be slain.

Hendrika saw that the battle was lost. dropping the child from her arms, she rushed straight at us, a very picture of horrible insanity. I lifted my gun, but could not bear to shoot. After all, she was but a mad thing, half ape, half woman. So I sprang to one side, and she landed full on indaba Zimbi, knocking him down, but she did not stay to do any more. Whaling terribly, she rushed down the gully and threw the arch, followed by a few of the surviving baboons, and vanished from our sight. End of Part 12 Part 13 of Alan's Wife and Other Tales by H. Ryder Haggard.

This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Alan's Wife, Chapter 13. What happened to Stella? The fight was over. In all we had lost, seven men killed, and several more were severely bitten, while but a few had escaped without some tokens whereby he might remember what a baboon's teeth and claws are like. How many of the brutes we killed I never knew, because we did not count, but it was a vast number. I should think that the stock must have been low about Babian's peak for many years afterwards. From that day to this, however, I have always avoided baboons, feeling more afraid of them than any beast that's

lives. The path was clear and we rushed forward along the water course, but first we picked up little Sota. The child was not in a swoon as I had thought, but paralysed by terror so that she could scarcely speak. Otherwise she was unhurt, though it took her many a week to recover her nerve. Had she been older and had she not remembered Hendrika, I doubt if she would have recovered it. She knew me again and flung her little arms about my neck, clinging to me so closely that I did not dare to give her to anyone else to carry, lest I should add to her terrors. So I went on with her in my arms.

The fears that pierced my heart may well be imagined. Should I find Stella living or dead? Should I find her at all? Well, we should soon know now. We stumbled on up the stony water course. Notwithstanding the weight of Tota, I led the way, for suspense lent me wings. Now we were through, and an extraordinary scene lay before us. We were in a great natural amphitheatre, only it was three times the size of any amphitheatre ever shaped by man,

and the walls were formed of precipitous cliffs, ranging from one to two hundred feet in height. For the rest, the space thus enclosed was level, studied with park-like trees, brilliant with flowers, and having a stream running through the centre of it, that, as I afterwards discovered, welled up from the ground at the head of the open space. We spread ourselves out in a line, searching everywhere, for Tota was too overcome to be able to tell us where Stella was hidden away.

For nearly half an hour we searched and searched, scanning the walls of rock for any possible openings to a cave. in vain we could find none. I applied to Old Indabazimbi, but his foresight was its fault here. All he could say was that this was the place and that the star was hidden somewhere in a cave, but where the cave was he could not tell.

At last we came to the top of the amphitheatre. There before us was a wall of rock, of which the lower parts were here and there clothed in grasses, lichens and creepers. I walked along it, calling at the top of my voice. Presently my heart stood still, for I thought I heard a faint answer. I drew nearer to the place from which the sound seemed to come, and again called. Yes, there was an answer in my wife's voice.

It seemed to come from the rock. I went up to it and searched among the creepers, but still could find no opening. "'Move the stone!' cried Stella's voice. cave shut with a stone. I took a spear and prodded at the cliff whence the sound came. Suddenly, the spear sunk in through a mass of lichon. I swept the lichon aside, revealing a boulder that had been rolled into the mouth of an opening in the rock, which it fitted so accurately that covered as it was by the overhanging lichon it might well have escaped the keenest eye. We dragged the boulder out. It was a little bit of the boulder out. It was a little bit of the overhanging lichon, it was

two men's work to do it. Beyond was a narrow water-worn passage which I followed with a beating heart. Presently, the passage opened into a small cave, shaped like a pickle bottle, and coming to a neck at the top end. We passed through and found ourselves in a second, much larger cave, that I at once recognized as the one of which Indaba Zimbi had shown me a vision in the water. Light reached it from above, how I know not, and by it I could see a form, half sitting, half lying on some skins at the top end of the cave. I rushed to it, it was stellar, stellar bound with strips of hide, bruised, torn, but still stellar, and alive. She saw me, she gave one cry, then, as I caught her in my arm she fainted.

It was happy indeed that she did not faint before, for had it not been for the sound of her voice, I do not believe we should ever have found that cunningly hidden cave, unless, indeed, in Damazimbi's magic, on which be blessings, had come to our assistance. We bore her to the open air, laid her beneath the shade of a tree, and cut the bonds loose from her ankles. As we went I glanced at the cave.

It was exactly as I was exactly as I was, I had seen it in the vision. There burnt the fire, there were the rude wooden vessels, one of them still half full of the water which I had seen the baboon bring. I felt awed as I looked and marvelled at the power wielded by a savage who could not even read and write. Now I could see Stella clearly, her face was scratched and haggard with fear and weeping, her clothes were almost torn off her, and her beautiful hair was loose and tangled. I sent for water, and we sprinkled her face. Then I forced a little of the brandy, which we distilled from peaches at the kraals between her lips, and she opened her eyes, and throwing her arms about me, clung to me as

little Tota had done, sobbing. Thank God! Thank God! After a while she grew quieter, and I made her and Tota eat some food from the store that we had brought with us. I too ate and was thankful, for with the exception of mealy cobs, I had tasted nothing for nearly four and twenty hours. Then she washed her face and hands, and tidied her rags of dress as well as she was able. As she did so, by degrees I drew her story from her. It seemed that on the previous afternoon, being wearied with packing, she went out to visit. visit her father's grave, taking Tota with her, and was followed there by the two dogs. She wished to lay some flowers on the grave and take farewell of the dust it covered,

for as we had expected to trek early on the morrow, she did not know if she would find a later opportunity. They passed up the garden, and gathering some flowers from the orange trees and elsewhere, went on to the little graveyard. Here she laid them on the grave as we had found them, and then, sitting down, fell into a deep and sad reverie, such as the occasion would naturally induce. While she sat thus, Tota, who was a lively child and active as a kitten, strayed away without Stella observing it. With her went to the dogs, who had also grown tired of inaction.

A while passed, and suddenly she heard the dogs barking furiously about 150 yards away. Then she heard Tota scream, and the dogs also yelling with fear and pain. She rose and ran as swiftly as she could towards the spot whence the sound came. Presently she was there, before her in the glade, holding the screaming tota in her arms,

was a figure in which, notwithstanding the rough disguise of baboon skins and colouring matter, she had no difficulty in recognising Hendrika, and all about her were numbers of baboons, rolling over and over in two hideous heaps, of which the centres were the unfortunate dogs now in process of being rents of fragments. Hendrika, Stella cried.

What does this mean? What are you doing with Tota and those brutes? The woman heard her and looked up. Then Stella saw that she was mad. Madness stared from her eyes. She dropped the child which instantly flew to Stella for protection. Stella clasped it, only to be herself clasped by Hendrika. She struggled fiercely, but it was of no use.

The babianfrau had the strength of ten. She lifted her and tota as though they were nothing, and ran off with them, following the bed of the stream in order to avoid leaving a spoor. Only the baboons who came with her, minus the one the dogs had killed, would not take to the water, but kept pace with them on the bank.

Stella said that the night which followed was more like a hideous nightmare than a reality. She was never able to tell me all that occurred in it. She had a vague recollection of being borne over rocks and along clofs, while around her echoed the horrible grunts and cliques of the baboons. She spoke to Henrika in English and Kaffir, imploring her to let them go, but the woman, if I may call her so, seemed in her madness to have entirely forgotten these tongs.

When Stella spoke, she would kiss her and stroke her hair, but she did not seem to understand what it was, she said. On the other hand, she could and did talk to the baboons that seemed to obey her implicitly. Moreover, she would not allow them to touch either Stella or the child in her

arms. Once one of them tried to do so, and she seized a dead stick and struck it so heavily on the head that it fell senseless. Thrice Stella made an attempt to escape, for sometimes even Hendrika's giant strength waned, and she had to set them down, but on each occasion she caught them, and it was in these struggles that Stella's clothes were so torn. At length before daylight, they reached the cliff, and with the first break of light the ascent

began. Hendrika dragged them up the first stages, but when they came to the precipitous place, she tied the strips of hide, of which he had a supply wound round her waist, beneath Stella's arms. Steep as the place was, the baboons ascended it easily enough, springing from a knob of rock to the trunk of the tree that grew on the edge of the crevasse. Hendrika followed them, holding the end of the hide rhyme in her teeth, one of the baboons hanging down from the tree to assist her ascent. It was while she was ascending that Stella bethought her of letting fall her handkerchief

in the faint hope that some searcher might see it. By this time, Henrika was on the tree and grunting out orders to the baboons which clustered about Stella below. Suddenly these seized her and little Tota who was in her arms and lifted her from the ground. Then Hendrika above, aided by other baboons, put out all her great strong. strength and pulled the two of them up the rock. Twice Stella swung heavily against the cliff.

After the second blow, she felt her senses going and was consumed with terror lest she should drop Tota, but she managed to cling to her, and together they reached the cleft. From that time, Stella went on, I remember no more, till I woke to find myself in a gloomy cave, resting on a bed of skins.

My legs were bound, and Hendrika sat near me, watching me, while round the edge of the cave peered the heads of those horrible baboons. Toto was still in my arms, and half dead from terror. Her moans were pitiful to hear. I spoke to Hendrika, imploring her to release us, but either she has lost all understanding of human speech, or she pretends to have done so. All she would do was caress me, and even kiss my hands and dress with exce. extravagant signs of affection. As she did so, Tota shrunk closer to me. This Hendrika saw and glared so savagely at the child that I feared lest she was going to kill her. I diverted her attention by making signs that I wanted water, and this she gave me in a wooden bowl. As you saw, the cave was evidently Hendrika's dwelling place. There are stores of fruit in it and some strips of dried flesh.

She gave me some of the fruit and Tota a little, and I made Tota eat some. You can never know what I went through, Alan. I saw now that Hendrika was quite mad, and but little removed from the brutes to which she is akin, and over which she has such unholy power. The only trace of humanity left about her was her affection for me. Evidently, her idea was to keep me here with her, to keep me away from you, and to carry out this idea, she was capable of the exercise of every artifice and cunning. In that way she was sane enough, but in every other way she was mad.

Moreover, she had not forgotten her horrible jealousy. Already I saw her glaring at Tota and knew that the child's murder was only a matter of time. Probably within a few hours she would be killed before my eyes. Of escape, even if I had the strength, there was absolutely no chance, and little enough of our ever being found. No, we should be kept here guarded by a mad thing, half ape, half woman, till we perished miserably. Then I thought of you, dear, and of all that you must be suffering,

and my heart nearly broke. I could only pray to God that I might either be rescued or die swiftly. As I prayed, I dropped into a kind of dose from utter way, weariness, and then I had the strangest dream. I dreamed that Indabazimbi stood over me, nodding his white lock, and spoke to me in Caffir, telling me not to be frightened, for you would soon be with me, and that meanwhile I must humour Hendrika, pretending to be pleased to have her near me. The dream was so vivid that I actually seemed to see and hear him as I see and hear him now. Here I looked up and glanced at Old Indabazimbi, who was sitting near, but it was not

till afterwards that I told Stella of how her vision was brought about. At any rate, she went on, when I awoke, I determined to act on my dream. I took Hendrika's hand and pressed it. She actually laughed in a wild kind of way, with happiness, and laid her head upon my knee. Then I made signs that I wanted food, and she threw wood on the fire, which I forgot to tell you was burning in the cave, and began to make some of the broth she used to cook very well, and she did not seem to have forgotten all about it. At any rate, the broth was not bad, though neither tota nor I could drink much of it. Fright and weariness had taken away our appetites. After the meal was done, and I prolonged it as much as possible, I saw that Hendrika was beginning to get jealous of Tota again. She glared at her, and then at the big knife which was tied round her own body. I knew the knife again, it was the one with which she had tried to murder you, dear. At last she went so far as to draw the knife.

I was paralysed with fear, then suddenly I remembered that when she was our servant and used to get out of temps, and sulk, I could always calm her by singing to her. So I began to sing hymns. Instantly she forgot her jealousy and put the knife back into its sheath. She knew the sound of the singing and sat listening to it with a rapt face. The baboons too crowded in at the entrance of the cave to listen. I must have sung for an hour or more, or the hymns that I could remember. It was so very strange and dreadful, sitting there singing to Mad Hendrika, and those hideous man-like apes that shut their eyes and nodded their great heads as I sang. It was like a horrible nightmare, but I believe that the baboons are almost as human as the Bushmen. Well, this went on for a long

time till my voice was getting exhausted. Then suddenly I heard the baboons outside raise a loud noise as they do when they are angry. Then, dear, I heard the boom of your elephant gun, and I think it was the sweetest sound that ever came to my ears. Hendrika heard it too. She sprang up, stood for a moment, then to my horror, swept Tota into her arms and rushed down the cave. Of course I could not stir to follow her, for my feet were tied. Next instant I heard the sound of a rock being moved, and presently the lessening of the light in the cave told me that I was shut in. Now the sound even of the elephant's gun only reached me very faintly, and presently I could hear nothing more, straining my ears as I would.

At last I heard a faint shouting that reached me through the wall of rock. I answered as loud as I could. You know the rest, and oh, my dear husband, thank God, thank God, and she fell weeping into my arms. End of Part 13 of Alan's wife and other tales by H. Rider Haggard. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Alan's wife, Chapter 14, 15 years after. Both Stella and Tota were too weary to be moved,

so we camped that night in the baboons home, but were troubled by no baboons. Stella would not sleep in the cave. She said the place terrified her, so I made her up a kind of bed under a thorn tree. As this rock-bound valley was one of the hottest places I ever was in, I thought that this would not matter, but when at sunrise on the following morning,

I saw a veil of miasmatic mist, hanging over the surface of the ground. I changed my opinion. However, neither Stella nor Tota seemed the worse, so as soon as was practicable, we started homewards. I had already on the previous day sent some of the men back to the kraals to fetch a ladder, and when we reached the cliff we found them waiting for us beneath. With the help of the ladder, the descent was easy.

Stella simply got out of her rough litter at the top of the cliff, for we found it necessary to carry her, climbed down the ladder, and got into it again at the bottom. Well, we reached the kraals safe. enough, seeing nothing more of Hendrica, and, with this a story, doubtless I should end it here with, and lived happily ever after. But alas, it is not so, how am I to write it? My dearest wife's vital energy seemed completely to fail her, now that the danger was passed, and within twelve hours of our return I saw that her state was such as to necessitate the

abandonment of any idea of leaving Babian Kral's at present. The bodily exertion, the anguish of mind, and the terror which she had endured during that dreadful night, combined with her delicate state of health, had completely broken her down. To make matters worse, also, she was taken with an attack of fever, contracted no doubt in the unhealthy atmosphere of that accursed valley. In time she shook the fever off, but it left her dreadfully weak and quite unfit to face the trial before her. I think she knew that she was going to die. She always spoke of my future, never of our future.

It is impossible for me to tell how sweet she was, how gentle, how patient and resigned. Nor indeed do I wish to tell it, it is too sad, but this I will say. I believe that if ever a woman drew near to perfection, while yet living on the earth, Stella Quatermain did so. The fatal hour drew on. My boy Harry was born, and his mother lived to kiss and bless him. Then she sank.

We did what we could, but we had little skill and might not hold her back from death. All through one weary night, I watched her with a breaking heart. The dawn came, the sun rose in the east, His rays falling on the peak behind were reflected in glory upon the bosom of the western sky. Stella awoke from her swoon and saw the light. She whispered to me to open the door of the hut. I did so, and she fixed her dying eyes on the splendour of the morning sky.

She looked on me and smiled as an angel might smile. Then, with a last effort, she lifted her hand and, pointing to the radiant heavens, whispered, "'There, Alan, there!' "'It was done, and I was broken-hearted, "'and broken-hearted I must wander till the end. "'Those who have endured my loss will know my sorrow. "'It cannot be written.

"'In such peace and at such an hour may I also die. "'Yes, it is a sad story, "'but wander where we will about the world, "'we can never go beyond the sound of the passing bell. "'For me, as for my father, before me, and for the millions who have been and who shall be, there is but one word of comfort. The Lord hath given, and the Lord hath taken away. Let us then bow our heads in hope, and add with a humble heart, blessed be the name of the Lord. I buried her by her father's side,

and the weeping of the people who had loved her went up to heaven. Even in Dabazimbi wept, but I could weep no more. On the second night from her burial, I could not sleep. I rose, dressed myself and went out into the night. The moon was shining brightly, and by its rays I shaped my course towards the graveyard. I drew near silently, and as I came, I thought I heard a sound of moaning on the further side of the wall.

I looked over it, Crouched by Stella's grave And tearing at its sods with her hands As though she would unearth That which lay within was Hendrika Her face was wild and haggard Her form was so emaciated That when the pelt she wore slipped aside

The shoulder blades seemed to project Almost through her skin Suddenly she looked up and saw me Laughing her dreadful maniac laugh She put her hand to her girdle and drew her great knife from it. I thought that she was about to attack me and prepared to defend myself as best I could,

for I was unarmed, but she made no effort to do so. Lifting the knife on high, for a moment she held its glittering in the moonlight, then plunged it into her own breast and fell headlong to the ground. I sprang over the wall and ran to her. She was not yet dead.

Presently she opened her eyes and I saw that the madness had gone out of them. Macumazan, she said, speaking in English and in a thick, difficult voice, like one who half forgot and half remembered. Macumazan, I remember now, I have been mad. Is she really dead, Macumazan? Yes, I said, she is dead, and you killed her. I killed her.

The dying woman faltered, and I loved her. Yes, yes, I know now. I became a brute again and dragged her to the brutes. And now once more I am a woman and she is dead. And I killed her because I loved her so. I killed her who saved me from the brutes. I am not dead yet, maquamazan. Take me and torture me to death. Slowly, very slowly. It was jealousy of you that drove me mad. I have killed her, and now she never can forgive me. Ask forgiveness from above, I said, for Hendrika had been a Christian, and the torment of her remorse touched me.

I ask no forgiveness, she said. May God torture me forever, because I killed her. May I become a brute forever, till she comes to find me, and forgives me. I only want her forgiveness. and wailing in an anguish of the heart, so strong that her bodily suffering seemed to be forgotten, Hendrika, the baboon woman, died. I went back to the clas, and waking in Dabazimbi, told him what had happened, asking him to send someone to watch the body as I proposed to give it burial.

But next morning it was gone, and I found that the natives, hearing of the event, had taken the corpse and thrown it to the vultures with every mark of hate. Such then was the end of Hendrika. A week after Hendrika's death, I left Babian Krales. The place was hateful to me now. It was a haunted place. I sent for old Indabazimbi and told him that I was going. He answered that it was well.

The place has served your turn, he said. Here, you have won that joy you which is going. it was fated you should win, and have suffered those things that it was fated you should suffer. Yes, and though you know it's not now, the joy and the suffering, like the sunshine and the storm, are the same thing, and will rest at last in the same heaven, the heaven from which they came. Now go, Macumazan. I asked him if he was coming with me.

No, he answered, our paths lie apart. henceforth, Makumazan. We met together for certain ends. Those ends are fulfilled. Now each one goes his own way. You have still many years before you, Makamazan, my years have few. When we shake hands here, it will be for the last time. Perhaps we may meet again, but it will not be in this world. Henceforth we have each of us a friend the less. Heavy world. Heavy work. I said. True words, he answered. Well, I have a little heart to write of the rest of it.

I went, leaving Indabazimbi in charge of the place, and making him a present of such cattle and goods as I did not want. Tota, I of course took with me. Fortunately, by this time, she had almost recovered the shock to her nerves. The baby Harry, as he was afterwards named, was a fine healthy child, and I was lucky in getting a respectable native woman whose husband had been killed in the fight with the baboons

to accompany me as his nurse. Slowly, and followed for a distance by all the people, I trekked away from Babian Krales. My route towards Natal was along the edge of the badlands, and my first night's outspan was beneath that very tree where Stella my lost wife had found us as we lay dying of first. I did not sleep much that night,

and yet I was glad that I had not died in the desert about eleven months before. I felt then, as from year to year I have continued to feel while I wander through the lonely wilderness of life, that I had been preserved to an end. I had won my darling's love, and for a little while we had been happy together,

our happiness was too perfect to endure. She is lost to me now, but she is lost to be found again. Here on the following morning, I bade farewell to indaba Zimbi. Goodbye, Maculmazan, he said, nodding his white lock at me. Goodbye for a while. I am not a Christian. Your father could not make me that, but he was a wise man, and when he said that those who love each other shall meet again,

he did not lie. And I too am a wise man in my way, Macumazan, and I say it is true that we shall meet again. All my prophecies to you have come true, Macumazan, and this one shall come true also. I tell you that you shall return to Babian Kraus, and shall not find me. I tell you, you shall journey to a further land than Babian Kraus,

and shall find me. Farewell. and he took a pinch of snuff, turned and went. Of my journey down to Natal, there is little to tell. I met with many adventures, but they were of an everyday kind, and in the end arrived safely at Port Durban, which I now visited for the first time. Both Tota and my baby boy bore the journey well,

and here I may as well chronicle the destiny of Tota. For a year she remained under my charge, Then she was adopted by a lady, the wife of an English colonel who was stationed at the Cape. She was taken by her adopted parents to England, where she grew up a very charming and pretty girl, and ultimately married a clergyman in Norfolk. But I never saw her again, though we often wrote to each other. Before I return to the country of my birth, she too had been gathered to the land of shadows, leaving three children behind her.

Ah, me! All this took place so long ago when I was young, who now am old. Perhaps it may interest the reader to know the fate of Mr Carson's property, which should of course have gone to his grandson Harry. I wrote to England to claim the estate on his behalf, but the lawyer to whom the matter was submitted said that my marriage to Stella, not having been celebrated by an ordained priest, was not legal according to English law,

and therefore Harry could not inherit. "'Foolishly enough I acquiesced in this, "'and the property passed to a cousin of my father-in-law's. "'But since I have come to live in England, "'I have been informed that this opinion is open to great suspicion, "'and that there is every probability that the courts "'would have declared the marriage perfectly binding "'as having been solemnly entered into,

"'in accordance with the custom of the place where it was contracted. "'But I am now so rich that it is not worth while to move in the matter. The cousin is dead, his son is in possession, so let him keep it. Once and once only did I revisit Babian Krales. Some fifteen years after my darling's death, when I was a man in middle life, I undertook an expedition to the Zambezi, and one night outspanned at the mouth of the well-known valley beneath the shadow of the great peak.

I mounted my horse, and quite alone, rode up the valley, noticing with a strange prescience of evil that the road was overgrown, and, save for the music of the waterfalls, the place silent as death. The kraals that used to be to the left of the road by the river had vanished. I rode towards their sight. The mealy fields were choked with weeds, the paths were dumb with grass. Presently I reached the place. There, overgrown with grass were the burnt ashes of the kraals.

and there among the ashes, gleaming in the moonlight, lay the white bones of men. Thou it was clear to me, the settlement had been fallen on by some powerful foe, and its inhabitants put to the Asagai. The forebodings of the natives had come true. Babian Krales were peopled by memories alone. I passed on up the terraces. There shone the roofs of the marble huts. they would not burn, and were too strong to be easily pulled down. I entered one of them, it had been our sleeping hut, and lit a candle which I had with me. The huts had been sacked, leaves of books and broken mouldering fragments of the familiar furniture lay about. Then I remembered that there was a secret place hollowed in the floor, and concealed by a stone,

where Stella used to hide her little treasures. I went to the stone and dragged it up. There was something within, wrapped in a rotting native cloth. I undid it. It was the dress my wife had been married in. In the centre of the dress with a withered wreath and flowers she had worn, and with them a little paper packet. I opened it.

It contained a lock of my own hair. I remembered then that I had searched for this dress when I came away and could not find it, for I had found it, for I had forgotten the secret recess in the floor. Taking the dress with me, I left the hut for the last time. Leaving my horse tied to a tree, I walked to the graveyard through the ruined garden. There it was a mass of weeds, but over my darling's grave grew a self-sown orange bush,

of which the scented petals fell in showers onto the mound beneath. As I drew near, there was a crash and a rush, A great baboon leapt from the centre of the graveyard and vanished into the trees. I could almost believe that it was the wraith of Hendrika, doomed to keep an eternal watch over the bones of the woman her jealous rage had done to death. I tarried there a while, filled with such thoughts as may not be written. Then, leaving my dead wife to her long sleep, where the waters fall in melancholy music,

beneath the shadow of the everlasting mountain, I turned and sought that spot where first we had told our love. Now the orange grove was nothing but a tangled thicket. Many of the trees were dead, choked with creepers, but some still flourished. There stood the one beneath which we had lingered.

There was the rock that had been our seat, and there on the rock sat the wraith of Stella, the Stella whom I had wed. Aye, there she said, sat, and on her upturned face was that same spiritual look, which I saw upon it in the hour when we first had kissed. The moonlight shone in her dark eyes, the breeze wavered in her curling hair, her breast rose and fell. A gentle smile played about her parted lips. I stood transfixed with awe and joy, gazing on that lost loveliness which once was mine.

I could not speak, and she spoke no word. She did not even seem to see me. I drew near. Now her eyes fell. For a moment they met mine, and their message entered into me. Then she was gone. She was gone. Nothing was left but the tremulous moonlight, falling where she had been, the melancholy music of the waters,

the shadow of the everlasting mountain, and in my heart, the sorrow and the hope. End of Part 14 End of Alan's Wife by H. Ryder Haggard. Part 15 of Alan's wife and other tales by H. Rider Haggard. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Hunter Quatermain's story. Sir Henry Curtis, as everybody acquainted with him knows,

is one of the most hospitable men on earth. It was in the course of the enjoyment of his hospitality at his place in Yorkshire the other day that I heard the hunting story which I am now about to transcribe. Many of those who read it will no doubt have heard some of the strange rumours that are flying about to the effect that Sir Henry Curtis and his friend Captain Good R.N.,

recently found a vast treasure of diamonds out in the heart of Africa supposed to have been hidden by the Egyptians or King Solomon or some other antique person. I first saw the matter alluded to in a paragraph in one of the society papers the day before I started for Yorkshire to pay my visit to Curtis, and, arrived, needless to say, burning with curiosity, for there is something very fascinating to the mind in the idea of hidden treasure. When I reached the hall, I at once asked Curtis about it, and he did not deny the truth of the story,

but on my pressing him to tell it, he would not, nor would Captain Good, who was also staying in the house. "'You would not believe me if I did,' Sir Henry said, with one of the hearty laughs which seemed to come right out of his great lungs. "'You must wait till Hunter Quatermain comes. "'He will arrive here from Africa tonight, "'and I am not going to say a word about the matter, "'or good either, until he turns up.

"'Quatermain was with us all through. "'He has known about the business for years and years, "'and if it had not been for him, we should not have been here today. "'I am going to meet him presently.' "'I could not get a word more out of him, "'nor could anybody else, "'though we were all dying of curiosity, "'especially some of the ladies.

"'I shall never forget how they looked in the drawing-room before dinner "'when Captain Good produced a great rough diamond, weighing 50 carrots or more, and told them that he had many larger than that. If ever I saw curiosity and envy printed on fair faces, I saw them then. It was just at this moment that the door was opened, and Mr. Alan Quatermain announced,

whereupon Good put the diamond into his pocket, and sprang at a little man who limped shyly into the room, convoyed by Sir Henry Curtis himself. Here he is, Good, safe and size. said to Henry gleefully. Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to one of the oldest hunters and the very best shot in Africa

who has killed more elephants and lions than any other man alive. Everybody turned and stared politely at the curious-looking little lame man and though his size was insignificant he was quite worth staring at. He had short, grizzled hair which stood about an inch above his hair,

his head like the bristles of a brush, gentle brown eyes that seemed to notice everything, and a withered face, tanned to the colour of mahogany from exposure to the weather. He spoke, too, when he returned Gudd's enthusiastic greeting with a curious little accent, which made his speech noticeable. It so happened that I sat next to Mr. Alan Quatermain at dinner,

and of course did my best to draw him, but he was not to be drawn. He admitted that he had recently been a long journey into the interior of Africa with Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good, and that they had found treasure, and then politely turned the subject, and he began to ask me questions about England, where he had never been before,

that is, since he came to years of discretion. Of course I did not find this very interesting, and so cast about for some means to bring the conversation round again. Now, we were dining in an oak-panelled vest-examination, and on the wall opposite to me were fixed two gigantic elephant tusks, and under them a pair of buffalo horns, very rough and knotted, showing that they came off an old bull, and having the tip of one horn split and chipped. I noticed that Hunter Quatermain's eyes kept glancing at these trophies and took an occasion to ask him if he knew anything about them.

I ought to, he answered with a little laugh. The elephant to which those tusks belonged, tore one of our party writing too, about eighteen months ago, and as for the buffalo horns, they were nearly my death, and were the end of a servant of mine to whom I was much attached. I gave them to Sir Henry

when he left Natal some months ago, and Mr. Quatermain's side, and turned to answer a question from the lady whom he had taken down to dinner, and who, needless to say, was also employed in trying to pump him about the diamonds. Indeed, all round the table there was a simmer of scarcely suppressed excitement,

which, when the servants had left the room, could no longer be restrained. Now, Mr. Quatermain, said the lady next him, We have been kept in an agony of suspense by Sir Henry and Captain Good, who have persistently refused to tell us a word of this story about the hidden treasure till you came, it we simply can bear it no longer. So please, begin at once. Yes, said everybody, go on, please. Hunter Quaterman glanced round the table apprehensively.

He did not seem to appreciate finding himself the object of so much curiosity. Ladies and gentlemen, he said at last, with a shake of his grizzled head. I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot do it. It is this way. At the request of Sir Henry and Captain Good, I have written down a true and plain account of King Solomon's minds and how we found them, so you will soon all be able to learn all about that wonderful adventure for yourselves. But until then, I will say nothing about it, not from any wish to disappoint your curiosity, or to make myself important, but simply because the whole story partakes so much of the marvellous that I am afraid to tell it in a piecemeal hasty fashion,

for fear I should be set down as one of those common fellows, of whom there are so many in my profession, who are not ashamed to narrate things they have not seen, and even to tell wonderful stories about wild animals they have never killed. And I think that my companions in adventure, Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good, will bear me out in what I say. Yes, Quatermain, I think you are quite right, said Sir Henry. Precisely the same considerations have forced good and myself to hold our tongs.

We did not wish to be bracketed with, well, with other famous travellers. There was a murmur of disappointment at these announcements. I believe you are all hoaxing us, said the young lady next Mr Quatermain, rather sharply. Believe me, answered the old hunter with a quaint courtesy and a little bow of his grizzled head, though I have lived all my life in the wilderness and among savages, I have neither the heart, nor the want of manners, to wish to deceive one so lovely. Whereat, the young lady, who was pretty, looked appeased. This is very dreadful, I broke in.

We ask for bread and you give us a stone, Mr. Quatermain. The least you can do is tell us the story of the tusks opposite, and the buffalo horns underneath. We won't let you off with less. "'I am but a poor storyteller,' put in the old hunter. "'But if you will forgive my want of skill, "'I shall be happy to tell you, "'not the story of the tusks,

"'for it is part of the history of our journey to King Solomon's minds, "'but that of the buffalo horns beneath them, "'which is now ten years old.' "'Bravo, Quater Main,' said Sir Henry. "'We shall all be delighted. "'Fire away. "'Fill up your glass first.' "'The little man did as he was bid,

took a sip of claret and began. About ten years ago, I was hunting up in the far interior of Africa at a place called Gatgara, not a great way from the Chobie River. I had with me four native servants, namely a driver and a forlupa, or leader, who were natives of Matabeleland, and a hought called Hans, who had once been the slave of a transvaal boar, and a Zulu hunter, who for five years had accompanied me upon my trips, and whose name was Mashunet. Now near Gatgara I found a fine piece of healthy park-like country where the grass was very good, considering the time of year, and here I made a little camp or headquarter settlement,

from whence I went expeditions on all sides in search of game, especially elephant. My luck, however, was bad. I got but little ivory. I was therefore very glad when some natives brought me news, that a large herd of elephants were feeding in a valley about 30 miles away. At first I thought of trekking down to the valley, wagon and all,

but gave up the idea on hearing that it was infested with the deadly Tzizi-fly, which is certain death to all animals, except men, donkeys and wild game. So I reluctantly determined to leave the wagon in the charge of the Matabale leader and driver, and to start on a trip into the thorn country, accompanied only by the Hottentot, Hans and Mashune. Accordingly, on the following morning, we started, and on the evening of the next day,

reached the spot where the elephants were reported to be. But here again we were met by ill luck. That the elephants had been there was evident enough, for their spore was plentiful, and so were other traces of their presence in the shape of mimosa trees torn out of the ground, had placed topsy-turvy on their flat crowns in order to enable the great beasts to feed on their sweet roots.

But the elephants themselves were conspicuous by their absence. They had elected to move on. This being so, there was only one thing to do, and that was to move after them, which we did, and a pretty hunt they led us. For a fortnight or more we dodged about after those elephants, coming up with them on two occasions, and a splendid herd they were, only however to lose them again.

At a length we came up with them a third time, and I managed to shoot one bull, and then they started off again, where it was useless to try and follow them. After this I gave it up in disgust, and we made the best of our way back to the camp, not in the sweetest of tempers, carrying the tusks of the elephant I had shot.

It was on the afternoon of the fifth day of our tramp, that we reached the little copy overlooking the spot where the wagon stood and I confess that I climbed it with a pleasurable sense of homecoming for his wagon is the hunter's home as much as his house is that of a civilized person. I reached the top of the copy

and looked in the direction where the friendly white tent of the wagon should be. But there was no wagon, only a black burnt plane stretching away as far as the eye could reach. I rubbed my eyes, looked again, and made out on the spot of the camp, not my wagon, but some charred beams of wood. Half wild with grief and anxiety, followed by Hansen Mashune, I ran at full speed down the slope of the copy and across the space of plain below to the spring of water where my camp had been.

I was soon there, only to find that my worst suspicions were confirmed. The wagon and all its contents, including my spare guns and ammunition, had been destroyed by a grass fire. Now, before I started, I had left orders with the driver to burn off the grass round the camp in order to guard against accidents of this nature, and here was the reward of my folly, a very proper illustration of the necessity, especially where natives are concerned, of doing a thing oneself if one wants it done at all.

evidently the lazy rascals had not burnt round the wagon most probably indeed they had themselves carelessly fired the tall and resinous tambuki grass nearby the wind had driven the flames onto the wagon tent and there was quickly an end of the matter as for the driver and leader i know not what became of them probably fearing my anger they bolted taking the oxen with them i have never seen them from that hour to this I sat down on the black felt by the spring and gazed at the charred axles and dizzlebone of my wagon and I can assure you ladies and gentlemen I felt inclined to weep as for Mashuni and Hans they cursed away vigorously one in Zulu and the other in Dutch ours was a pretty position

we were nearly 300 miles away from Bamanguatu the capital of Kama's country which was the nearest spot where we could get any help, and our ammunition, spare guns, clothing, food and everything else were all totally destroyed. I had just what I stood in, which was a flannel shirt, a pair of felt scones, or shoes of raw hide,

my eight-bore rifle and a few cartridges. Hansa Mashune had also each a martini rifle and some cartridges, not many, and it was with this equipment to the, that we had to undertake a journey of 300 miles through a desolate and almost uninhabited region. I can assure you that I have rarely been in a worse position and I have been in some queer ones.

However, these things are the natural incidents of a hunter's life and the only thing to do was to make the best of them. Accordingly, after passing a comfortless night by the remains of my wagon, we started next morning on our long journey towards civilization. now if i were to set to work to tell you all the troubles and incidents of that dreadful journey i should keep you listening here till midnight so i will with your permission pass on to the particular adventure of which the pair of buffalo horns opposite are the melancholy memento We had been travelling for about a month, living and getting along as best we could, when one evening we camped some forty miles from Bamanguato. By this time we were indeed in a melancholy plight, foot-saw, half-starved and utterly worn out,

and, in addition, I was suffering from a sharp attack of fever which half-blinded me, and made me weak as a babe. Our ammunition too was exhausted. I had only one cartridge left for my eight-bore rifle, and Hans and Mesune, who were armed with Martini-Henris, had three between them. It was about an hour from sundown when we halted and lit a fire, for luckily we had still a few matches.

It was a charming spot to camp, I remember. Just off the game track we were following was a little hollow, fringed about with flat-crowned mimosa trees, and at the bottom of the hollow, A spring of clear water welled up out of the earth and formed a pool, round the edges of which grew an abundance of watercresses, of an exactly similar kind to those which were handed round the table just now. Now we had no food of any kind left,

having that morning devoured the last remains of a little Oribe antelope, which I had shot two days previously. Accordingly, Hans, who was a better shot than Masunet, took two of the three remaining martini cartridges and started out to see if he could not kill a buck for supper. I was too weak to go myself. Meanwhile, Mashune employed himself in dragging together some dead boughs from the mimosa trees to make a sort of skirm or shelter for us to sleep in,

about forty yards from the edge of the pool of water. We had been greatly troubled with lions in the course of our lung tramp, and only on the previous night had very nearly been attacked by them, which made me nervous, especially in my weak state. Just as we had finished the skirm, or rather something which did duty for one,

Mashune and I heard a shot apparently fired about a mile away. Hark to it, sang out Mashunay in Zulu, more I fancy by way of keeping his spirits up than for any other reason, for he was a sort of black Mark Tapley, and very cheerful under difficulties. Hark, to the wonderful sound which the Mabuna, the boars, shook our fathers to the ground at the Battle of the Blood River.

We are hungry now, my father. Our stomachs are small and withered up like a dried ox's paunch, but they will soon be full of good meat. Hence is a hottentot, and an unfaguzan, that is a low fellow, but he shoots straight. Ah, he certainly shoots straight. be of good heart, my father, there will soon be meat upon the fire,

and we shall rise up, men. And so he went on talking nonsense till I told him to stop, because he made my headache with his empty words. Shortly after we heard the shot, the sun sank in his red splendour, and there fell upon earth and sky, the great hush of the African wilderness.

The lions were not up as yet, they would probably wait for the moon, and the birds and beasts were all at rest. I cannot describe the intensity of the quiet of the night. To me in my weak state and fretting as I was over the non-return-return of the hottentot Hans, it seemed almost ominous, as though nature were brooding over some tragedy which was being enacted in her sight. It was quiet, quiet as death and lonely as the grave.

"'Mashunny,' I said at last, "'Where is Hans? My heart is heavy for him.' "'Nay, my father, I know not. "'May Happy is weary and sleeps, "'or May happy has lost his way.' "'Mashunny, art thou a boy to talk folly to me?' "'I answered. Tell me, "'in all the years thou hast hunted by my side,

"'didst thou ever know a hot andot "'to lose his path, or to sleep up on the way to camp?' "'Nay, Magumazahn.' "'That, ladies, is my native name, and means the man who gets up by night or who is always awake. I know not where he is. But though we talk to thus, we neither of us like to hint at what was in both our minds,

namely that misfortune had overtaken the poor hottentot. "'Bashunay,' I said at last, "'go down to the water and bring me of those green herbs that grow there. I'm hungered and must eat something.' "'Nay, my father, surely the ghost-go-go-go-house-house. are there, they come out of the water at night, and sit upon the banks to dry themselves. Anisanusi, a witch-finder, told it me. Masunny was, I think, one of the bravest men I ever knew in the daytime,

but he had a more than civilised dread of the supernatural. Must I go myself, thou fool? I said sternly. Nay, macumazan, if thy heart yearns for strange things like a sick woman, I go, even if the ghost devour me. And accordingly he went, and soon returned with a large bundle of watercresses, of which I ate greedily. Art thou not hungry?

I asked the great Zulu presently, as he sat eyeing me eating. Never was I hungry, my father. Then eat, and I pointed to the watercresses. Nay, macumazan, I cannot eat those herbs. If thou dost not eat, thou wilt starve. "'Eat, ma's shunny!' "'He stared at the watercresses doubtfully for a while,

"'and at last seized a handful, "'and crammed them into his mouth, crying out as he did so, "'Oh, why was I born that I should live "'to feed on green weeds like an ox? "'Surely, if my mother could have known it, "'she would have killed me when I was born.' "'So he went on lamenting between each fistful of watercresses "'till all were finished,

"'when he declared that, he was full indeed of stuff, but it lay very cold on his stomach, like snow upon a mountain. At any other time I should have laughed, for it must be admitted he had a ludicrous way of putting things. Sulus do not like green food. Just after Mashune had finished his watercress, we heard the loud woof-wuf of a lion, who was evidently promenading much nearer to our little skirm than was pleasant. Indeed, on looking into the darkness and listening intensely, I could hear his snoring breath and catch the light of his great yellow eyes. We shouted loudly and Bashune threw some sticks on the fire to frighten him,

which apparently had the desired effect, but we saw no more of him for a while. Just after we had had this fright from the lion, the moon rose in her fullest splendour, throwing a robe of silver light all over the earth. I have rarely seen a more beautiful moonrise. I remember that sitting in the skirm I could with ease read faint pencil notes in my pocketbook. As soon as the moon was up, game began to trek down to the water just below us. I could, from where I sat, see all sorts of them passing along a little ridge that ran to our right, on their way to the drinking place.

Indeed, one buck, a large eland, came within twenty yards of, of the skirm and stood at gaze, staring at it suspiciously, his beautiful head and twisted horns standing out clearly against the sky. I had, I recollect, every mind to have a pull at him on the chance of providing ourselves with a good supply of beef, but remembering that we had but two cartridges left and the extreme uncertainty of a shot by moonlight, I at length decided to refrain.

The Eland presently moved on to the, the water, and a minute or two afterwards there arose a great sound of splashing, followed by the quick fall of galloping hoofs. "'What's that, my shunny?' I asked. "'That damn lion! "'Buck smell him!' replied the Zulu in English, of which he had a very superficial knowledge. Scarcely were the words out of his mouth before we heard a sort of wine over the other side of the pool, which was instantly answered by a loud coughing raw,

close to us. By Jove, I said, there are two of them. They have lost the book. We must look out they don't catch us. And again we made up the fire and shouted with the results that the lions moved off. Maschunee, I said, do you watch till the moon gets over that tree, when it will be the middle of the night, then wake me. Watch well now, or the lions will be picking those worthless bones of yours before you are three hours older. I must rest a little, or I shall die. Coss, chief, answered the Zulu. Sleep, my father, sleep in peace.

My eyes shall be open as the stars, and like the stars shall watch over you. Although I was so weak, I could not at once follow his advice, to begin with, my head ached with fever, and I was torn with anxiety as to the fate of the hot and tot hands, and indeed, as to our own fate, left with sore feet, empty stomachs and two cartridges

to find our way to Bamanguato 40 miles off. Then the mere sensation of knowing that there are one or more hungry lions prowling round you somewhere in the dark is disquieting, however well one may be used to it, and by keeping the attention on the stretch tends to prevent one from sleeping. In addition to all these troubles too,

I was, I remember, seized with a dreadful longing for a part type of tobacco, whereas under the circumstances I might as well have longed for the moon. At last, however, I fell into an uneasy sleep, as full of bad dreams as a prickly pair is of points. One of which I recollect was that I was setting my naked foot upon a cobra, which rose upon its tail and hissed my name, Macumazan, into my ear. Indeed the cobra hissed with such persistency that at last I roused myself. Macumazahn, Nansia, Nanzia!

There, there, whispered Mashuna's voice into my drowsy ears. Raising myself, I opened my eyes, and I saw Mashune, kneeling by my side and pointing towards the water. Following the line of his outstretched hand, my eyes fell upon a sight that made me jump, old hunter as I was, even in those days. About twenty paces from the little skirm was a long, large ant-heap, and on the summit of the ant-heap, her four feet rather close together so as to

find standing space, stood the massive form of a big lioness. Her head was towards the skirm, and in the bright moonlight I saw her lower it and lick her paws. Maschunay thrust the martini rifle into my hands, whispering that it was loaded. I lifted it and covered the lioness, but found that even in that light, I could not make out the foresight of the martini. As it would be madness to fire without doing so, for the result would probably be that I should wound the lioness, if indeed I did not miss her altogether, I lowered the rifle, and hastily tearing a fragment of paper

from one of the leaves of my pocketbook, which I had been consulting just before I went to sleep, I proceeded to fix it on to the front sight. But all this took a little time, and before the paper was satisfactorily arranged, Ashune again gripped me by the arm, and pointed to a dark heap under the shade of a small mimosa tree, which grew not more than ten paces from the scum. Well, what is it? I whispered. I can see nothing. It is another lion, he answered.

Nonsense. My heart is dead with fear. Thou see a stubble, and I bent forward over the edge of the surrounding fence and stared at the heap. Even as I said the words, the dark mass rose and stalked out into the moonlight. It was a magnificent black-mained lion, one of the largest I had ever seen. When he had gone two or three steps he caught sight of me, halted, and stood there gazing straight towards us. He was so close that I could see the firelight reflected in his. his wicked greenish eyes.

Shoot, shoot, said Mahoney. The devil is coming! He is going to spring. I raised the rifle and got the bit of paper on the foresight, straight onto a little patch of white hair, just where the throat is set into the chest and shoulders. As I did so, the lion glanced back over his shoulder, as, according to my experience, a lion nearly always does before he springs.

then he dropped his body a little and i saw his big paws spread out upon the ground as he put his weight on them to gather purchase in haste i pressed the trigger of the martini and not an instant too soon for as i did so he was in the act of springing the report of the rifle rang out sharp and clear on the intense silence of the night and in another second the great brute had landed on his head within four four feet of us, and rolling over and over towards us, were sending the bushes which composed our little fence, flying with convulsive strokes of his great paws. We sprang out of the other side of the skirm, and he rolled onto it, and into it, and then, right through the fire. Next, he raised himself and sat upon his haunches like a great dog, and began to roar. Heavens how he roared, I never heard anything like it before or since. He kept filling his lungs with air

and then emitting it in the most heart-shaking volumes of sound. Suddenly, in the middle of one of the loudest roars, he rolled over onto his side and lay still, and I knew that he was dead, a lion generally dies upon his side. With a sigh of relief I looked up towards his mate upon the ant-heap. She was standing there apparently petrified with astonishment, looking over her shoulder and lashing her tail,

but to our intense joy when the dying beast ceased roaring, she turned, and with one enormous bound, vanished into the nights. Then we advanced cautiously towards the prostrate brute, Masune, droning an improvised Zulu song as he went, about how Makumazan, the hunter of hunters, whose eyes are open by night as well as by day, put his hand down the lion's stomach when it came to devour him, and pulled out his heart by the roots, etc., etc.

By way of expressing his satisfaction in his hyperbolical Zulu way, at the turn events had taken. There was no need for caution. The lion was as dead as though he had already been stuffed with straw. The martini bullet had entered within an inch of the way, white spot I had aimed at, and travelled right through him, passing out at the right buttock near the root of the tail. The Martini has a wonderful driving power, though the shock it gives to the system is, comparatively speaking, slight, owing to the smallness of the hole it makes.

But fortunately, the lion is an easy beast to kill. I passed the rest of that night in a profound slumber, my head reposing upon the deceased lion's flank, a position that had I thought, a beautiful touch of irony about it, though the smell of his singed hair was disagreeable. When I woke again, the faint primrose lights of dawn were flushing in the eastern sky. For a moment I could not understand the chill sense of anxiety that lay like a lump of ice at my heart till the feel and smell of the skin of the dead lion beneath my head recalled the circumstances in which we were placed. I rose and eagerly looked round to see if I could discover any signs of Hans, who, if he had escaped accident, would surely return to us at dawn, but there were none.

Then hope grew faint, and I felt that it was not well with the poor fellow. Setting Machunet to build up the fire, I hastily rewere to build up the fire, I hastily rewere removed the hide from the flank of the lion, which was indeed a splendid beast, and cutting off some lumps of flesh, we toasted and ate them greedily. Lion's flesh, strange as it may seem, is very good eating, and tastes more like veal than anything else. By the time that we had finished our much-needed meal, the sun was getting up, and after a drink of water and a wash at the pool, we started to try and find hands, leaving the dead lion to the tender mercies of the hyenas.

Both Moshone and myself were by constant practice pretty good hands at tracking, and we had not much difficulty in following the hot and tot spore, faint as it was. We had gone on in this way for half an hour or so, and were perhaps a mile or more from the sight of our camping place when we discovered the spore of a solitary bull buffalo mixed up with the spore of hans,

and were able from fainting. various indications to make out that he had been tracking the buffalo. At length we reached a little glade in which there grew a stunted old mimosa thorn with a peculiar and overhanging formation of root under which a porcupine or an ant's bear or some such animal had hollowed out a wide-lipped hole. About ten or fifteen paces from this thorn tree there was a thick patch of bush. See, macumazan, see, said Mashunei, excited. as we drew near the thorn. The buffalo has charged him.

Look, here he stood to fire at him. See how firmly he planted his feet upon the earth. There is the mark of his crooked toe. Hans had one bent toe. Look, here the bull came like a boulder down the hill, his hoofs turning up the earth like a hoe. Hans had hit him. He bled as he came.

There are blood spots. It is all written down there, my father. There upon the earth. "'Yes,' I said, yes, but where is Hans?' "'Even as I said it, Masunay clutched my arm "'and pointed to the stunted thorn just by us. "'Even now, gentlemen, it makes me feel sick "'when I think of what I saw,

"'for fixed in a stout fork of the tree "'some eight feet from the ground "'was Hans himself, "'or rather his dead body, "'evidently tossed there by the furious buffalo. One leg was twisted round the fork, probably in a dying convulsion. In the side, just beneath the ribs was a great hole from which the entrails protruded. But this was not all, the other leg hung down to within five feet of the ground.

The skin and most of the flesh were gone from it. For a moment we stood aghast and gazed at this horrifying sight. Then I understood what had happened. The buffalo, with that devilish cruelty which distinguishes the animal, had, after his enemy was dead, stood underneath his body and licked the flesh off the pendant's leg with his file-like tongue. I had heard of such a thing before,

but had always treated the stories as hunter's yarns, but I had no doubt about it now. Poor Hans' skeleton, foot and ankle were an ample proof. We stood aghast under the tree, and stared and stared at this awful sight, when suddenly our cogitations were interrupted in a painful manner. The thick bush about fifteen paces off burst asunder, with a crashing sound,

and uttering a series of ferocious pig-like grunts, the bull buffalo himself came charging out straight at us. Even as he came I saw the blood mark on his side where poor Hans's bullet had struck him, and also, as is often the case with particular, savaged buffaloes, that his flanks had recently been terribly torn in an encounter with a lion. On he came, his head well up, a buffalo does not generally lower his head till he does so to strike. Those great black horns, as I look at them before me, gentlemen, I seem to see them come

charging at me as I did ten years ago, silhouetted against the green bush behind. On, on, on. With a shout, Mashunei bolted off sideways. towards the bush. I had instinctively lifted my eight-bore, which I had in my hand. It would have been useless to fire at the buffalo's head, for the dense horns must have turned the bullet. But as Mashune bolted, the bull slewed a little with the momentary idea of following him, and as this gave me a ghost of a chance, I let drive my only cartridge at his shoulder. The bullet struck the shoulder-blade and smashed it up, and then, traveled on under the skin into his flank, but it did not stop him, though for a second he staggered.

Throwing myself on the ground with the energy of despair, I rolled under the shelter of the projecting root of the thorn, crushing myself as far into the mouth of the ants bear hole as I could. In a single instance the buffalo was after me, kneeling down on his uninjured knee, for one leg, that of which I had broken the shoulder, was swinging helplessly to and fro. He set to work to try and hook me out of the hole with his crooked horn. At first he struck at me furiously, and it was one of the blows against the base of the tree

which splintered the tip of the horn in the way that you see. Then he grew more cunning and pushed his head as far under the root as possible, made long semicircular sweeps at me, grunting furiously and blowing saliva and hot steamy breath all over me. I was just out of reach of the horn, though every stroke by widening the hole and making more room for his head brought it closer to me. But every now and again I received heavy blows in the ribs from his muzzle.

Feeling that I was being knocked silly, I made an effort, and seizing his rough tongue which was hanging from his jaws, I twisted it with all my force. The great brute bellowed with pain and fury and jerked himself backwards so strongly that he dragged me some inches further from the mouth of the hole and again made a sweep at me, catching me this time round the shoulder joint in the hook of his horn.

I felt that it was all up now and began to hollow a. He's got me! I shouted immortal terror. Guassa, mashunny, guassa! "'stab, Mashunet Stab!' "'One hoist of the great head, "'and out of the hole I came like a periwinkle out of his shell. "'But even as I did so, "'I caught sight of Mashunay's stalwart form,

"'advancing with his bangwan, "'or broad stabbing Asagai, "'raised above his head. "'In another quarter of a second I had fallen from the horn "'and heard the blow of the spear, "'followed by the indescribable sound of steel, shearing its way through flesh. I had fallen on my back,

and looking up, I saw that the gallant Mashune had driven the assegai a foot or more into the carcass of the buffalo and was turning to fly. Alas, it was too late, bellowing madly and spouting blood from mouth and nostrils,

the devilish brute was on him, and had thrown him up like a feather, and then gourd him twice as he lay. I struggled up with some wild idea of affording help, but before I had gone a step, the buffalo gave one long, sighing bellow, and rolled over dead by the side of his victim. Ashuna was still living,

but a single glance at him told me that his hour had come. The buffalo's horn had driven a great hole in his right lung, and inflicted other injuries. I knelt down beside him in the utterest, most distress and took his hand. Is he dead, Macumazan? he whispered. My eyes are blind. I cannot see. Yes, he is dead.

Did the black devil hurt thee, Macumazan? No, my poor fellow, I am not much hurt. Oh, I am glad. Then came a long silence, broken only by the sound of the air whistling through the hole in his lung as he breathed. macumazan art thou there i cannot feel thee i am here mashune i die macumazan the world flies round and round i go i go out into the dark surely my father at times in days to come thou wilt think of mashune who stood by thy side when thou killest elephants as we used as we used They were his last words, his brave spirit passed with them.

I dragged his body to the hole under the tree, and pushed it in, placing his broad assegai by him, according to the custom of his people, that he might not go defenceless on his long journey. And then, ladies, I am not ashamed to confess, I stood alone there before it, and wept like a woman. End of part fifteen. End of Hunter Quatermainne's story by H. Rider Haggard. Part 16 of Alan's wife and other tales by H. Rider Haggard.

This Librivox recording is in the public domain. A Tale of Three Lions, Chapter 1. The Interest on Ten Shillings Most of you will have heard of Alan Quatermain, who was one of the party that discovered King Solomon's mind some little time ago, and who afterwards came to live in England, near his... friend Sir Henry Curtis. He went back to the wilderness again,

as these old hunters almost invariably do on one pretext or another. Editor's footnote. This, of course, was written before Mr. Quatermain's account of the adventures in the newly discovered country of Zuvendis, of himself Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good had been received in England. End of footnote.

They cannot endure civilisation for very, long, its noise and racket, and the omnipresence of broad-clothed humanity, proving more trying to their nerves than the dangers of the desert. I think that they feel lonely here, for it is a fact that is too little understood, though it has often been stated, that there is no loneliness like the loneliness of crowds, especially to those who are unaccustomed to them. What is there in the world, old Quatermain would say, so desolate as to stand in the streets of a great city, and listen to the footsteps falling, falling, multitudinous as the rain, and watch the white line of faces as they hurry past. You know not whence, you know not whither.

They come and go, their eyes meet yours with a cold stare for a moment, their features are written on your mind, and then they are gone forever. You will never see them again, they will never see you again. They come up out of the unknown, and Presently, they once more vanish into the unknown, taking their secrets with them. Yes, that is loneliness pure and undefiled, but to one who knows and loves it, the wilderness is not lonely, because the spirit of nature is ever there to keep the wander a company. He finds companions in the winds, the sunny streams babble like nature's children at his feet. High above him in the purple sunset are domes and minarets and power,

such as no mortal man has built, in and out of whose flaming doors the angels of the sun seem to move continually. And there too is the wild game, following its feeding grounds in great armies, with the spring buck thrown out before for skirmishers. Then rank upon rank of long-faced bliss book, marching and wheeling like infantry, and last the shining troops of Quagga and the fierce eyed shaggy wildebeesta, to take as it were the place of the Cossack host that hangs upon an army's flanks. Oh no, he would say, the wilderness is not lonely. For my boy, remember that the further you get from man, the nearer you grow to God. And though this is a saying that might well be disputed, it is one I am sure that anybody will easily understand, who has watched the sun rise and set on the

limitless deserted plains, and seen the thunder chariots of the clouds roll in majesty across the depths of unfathomable sky. Well, at any rate, he went back again, and now for many months I have heard nothing at all of him, and to be frank, I greatly doubt if anybody will ever hear of him again. I fear that the wilderness that has for so many years been a mother to him will now also prove his grave and the grave of those who accompanied him. for the quest upon which he and they have started is a wild one indeed. But while he was in England for those three years or so, between his return from the successful discovery of the wise kings' buried treasures

and the death of his only son, I saw a great deal of old Alan Quatermain. I had known him years before in Africa, and after he came home, whenever I had nothing better to do, I used to run up to Yorkshire and stay with him, and in this way I at one time and another heard many of the incidents of his past life, and most curious some of them were. No man can pass all those years following the rough existence of an elephant hunter without meeting with many strange adventures,

and in one way and another, old Quatermain has certainly seen his share. Well, the story that I'm going to tell you in the following pages is one of the later of these adventures, though I forgets the exact same. year in which it happened. At any rate, I know that it was the only trip upon which he took his son Harry, who is since dead with him, and that Harry was then about 14. And now for the story, which I will repeat as nearly as I can in the words in which Hunter Quatermain told it to me one night in the old oak panelled vestibule of his house in Yorkshire. We were talking about gold mining.

Gold mining, he broke in. Ah, yes, I once went gold mining at Pilgrim's Rest in the Transphal, and it was after that that we had the business about Jim Jim and the Lions. Do you know Pilgrim's Rest? Well, it is or was one of the queerest little places you ever saw.

The town itself was pitched in a stony valley with mountains all about it, and in the middle of such scenery as one does not often get, the chance of seeing. Many and many is the time that I have thrown down my pick and shovel and disgust, clambered out of my claim, and walked a couple of miles or so to the top of some hill. Then I would lie down in the grass and look out over the glorious stretch of country, the smiling valleys, the great mountains touched with gold, real gold of the sunset,

and clothed in sweeping robes of bush, and stare into the depths of the perfect sky above. Yes, and thank heaven I had got away from the cursing and the coarse jokes of the miners, and the voices of those Basutu kaffirs as they toiled in the sun, the memory of which is with me yet. Well, for some months I dug away patiently at my claim, till the very sight of a pick or of a washing trough became hateful to me. A hundred times a day I lamented my own folly in having invested £800,

which was about all that I was worth at the time, in this gold mining. But like other better people before me, I had been bitten by the gold bug and was now forced to take the consequences. I bought a claim out of which a man had made a fortune, five or six thousand pounds at least, as I thought very cheap, That is, I gave him £500 down for it. It was all that I had made by a very rough years elephant hunting beyond the Zambezi,

and I sighed deeply and prophetically when I saw my successful friend, who was a Yankee, sweep up the roll of standard banknotes with the lordly air of the man who has made his fortune and cram them into his breeches' pockets. Well, I said to him, the happy vendor, it is a magnificent property,

and I only hope that my look will be as good as yours has been. He smiled. To my excited nerves it seemed that he smiled ominously as he answered me in a peculiar Yankee drawl. I guess, stranger, as I ain't the one to make a man quarrel with his food, more especial when there ain't no more going of the rounds. And as for that there claim, well, she's been a good nigger to me, but between you and me, stranger, speak. him man to man. Now that there ain't any filthy lucre between us to obscure the features of the

truth, I guess she's about worked out. I gasped. The fellow's effrontery took the breath out of me. Only five minutes before he had been swearing by all his gods, and they appear to be numerous and mixed, that there were half a dozen fortunes left in the claim, and that he was only giving it up because he was downright weary of shoveling the gold out. Don't look so vexed, stranger, went on my tormentor. Perhaps there is some shine in the old girl yet. Anyway, you're a downright good fellow, you are. Therefore you will, I guess, have a real A1 opportunity of working on the feelings of fortune.

Anyway, it will bring the muscle up upon your arm, for the stuff is uncommon stiff. What is more, you will in the course of a year earn a sight more than $2,000 in value of experience. Then he went, just in time, for in another moment I should have gone for him, and I saw his face no more. Well, I set to work on the old claim with my boy Harry and half a dozen kaffirs to help me, which, seeing that I had put nearly all my worldly wealth into it, was the least that I could do. And we worked, my word we did work, early and late we went at it, but never a bit of gold did we see. no, not even a nugget large enough to make a scarf pin out of. The American gentleman had secured it all and left us the sweepings.

For three months this went on, till at last I had paid away all or very nearly all that was left of our little capital in wages and food for the cafes and ourselves. When I tell you that bore meal was sometimes as high as four pounds a bag, you will understand that it did not take long to run through our banking accounts. At last the crisis came. One Saturday night I had paid the men as usual

and bought a mead of mealy-meal, at sixty shillings for them to fill themselves with. And then I went with my boy Harry and sat on the edge of the great hole that we had dug in the hillside and which we had in bitter mockery named Eldorado. Then we sat in the moonlight with our feet over the edge of the claim and were melancholy enough for anything. Presently, I pulled out my purse

and emptied its contents into my hand. There was a half-sovereign, two florins, ninepence in silver, no coppers, for copper practically does not circulate in South Africa, which is one of the things that make living so dear there. In all, exactly fourteen and ninepence. There, Harry, my boy, I said,

that is the sum total of our worldly wealth. That whole has swallowed all the rest. By George, said Master Harry, I say, father, you and I shall have to let ourselves out to work with the kaffirs and live on mealy-pap, and he sniggered at his unpleasant little joke. But I was in no mood for joking, for it is not a merry thing to dig like anything for months and to be completely ruined in the process,

especially if you happen to dislike digging, and consequently I resented Harry's light-heartedness. "'Be quiet boy,' I said, "'raising my hand as though to give him a cuff, "'with the result that the half-sovereign slipped out of it "'and fell into the gulf below. "'Oh, bother,' said I, "'it's gone.

"'There, Dad,' said Harry, "'that's what comes of letting your angry passions rise. "'Now we are down to four and nine.' I made no answer to these words of wisdom, but scrambled down the steep sides of the claim, followed by Harry to hunt for my little all. Well, we hunted and we hunted, but the moonlight is an uncertain thing to look for half-sovereigns by, and there was some loose soil about, for the cafes had knocked off working at this very spot a couple of hours before. I took a pick and raked away the clods of earth with it,

in the hope of finding the coin, but all in vain. At last, in sheer annoyance, I struck the sharp end of the pickax down into the soil, which was of a very hard nature. To my astonishment it sank in right up to the haft. "'Why, Harry,' I said, "'this ground must have been disturbed.' "'I don't think so, father,' he answered,

"'but we will soon see.' And he began to shovel out the soil with his hands. "'Oh,' he said presently, "'it's only some old stones. "'The pick has gone down between them, Luke,' "'and he began to pull at one of the stones. "'I see, Dad,' he said presently, almost in a whisper. "'It's precious heavy, feel it!'

"'And he rose and gave me a round brownish lump "'about the size of a very large apple, "'which he was holding in both his hands. "'I took it curiously and held it up to the light. It was very heavy. The moonlight fell upon its rough and filth encrusted surface, and as I looked, curious little thrills of excitement began to pass through me,

but I could not be sure. Give me your knife, Harry, I said. He did so, and resting the brown stone on my knee, I scratched at its surface. Great heavens it was soft. Another second and the secret was out, we had found a great nugget of pure, pure gold, four pounds of it or more.

It's gold, lad, I said. It's gold, or I'm a Dutchman. Harry, with his eyes, starting out of his head, glared down at the gleaming yellow scratch that I had made upon the virgin metal, and then burst out into yell upon yell of exultation, which went ringing away across the silent claims, like the shrieks of somebody being murdered. Be quiet, I said. You want every thief.

on the fields after you? Scarcely were the words out of my mouth when I heard a stealthy footstep approaching. I promptly put the big nugget down and sat on it, and uncommonly hard it was. As I did so, I saw a lean, dark face poked over the edge of the claim and a pair of beady eyes searching us out.

I knew the face. It belonged to a man of very bad character known as Hand Spank Tom, who had, I understood, been so named at the diamond fields because he had murdered his mate with a hand-spike. He was now no doubt prowling about like a human hyena to see what he could steal. Is that you, aren't a quite a main? he said.

Yes, it's I, Mr. Tom, I answered politely. And what might all at their yelling be? He asked. I was walking along, a taking of the evening air, and a-thinking on the stars, when I hears owl after owl. Well, Mr. Tom, I answered,

"'That is not to be wondered at, "'seeing that's like yourself, "'they are nocturnal birds.' "'Awl after owl,' he repeated sternly, "'taking no notice of my interpretation. "'And I stops and says, "'That's murder, "'and I listens again and thinks,

"'No, it ain't. "'That owl is the owl of exultation. "'Someone's been and got his fingers "'into a gummy yellow pot. "'I'll swear and gone off his head "'in the sucking of him. "'Now unto quite a mane, "'Is all right? Is it nuggets?

"'Oh, law!' "'And he smacked his lips audibly. "'Great big yellow boys! "'Is it then that you've just been and tumbled across?' "'No,' I said boldly. "'It isn't. "'The cruel gleam in his black eyes, "'all together overcoming my aversion to untruth,

"'for I knew that if once he found out "'what it was that I was sitting on. "'And by the way, "'I have heard of rolling in gold "'being spoken of as a pleasant process, but I certainly do not recommend anybody who values comfort to try sitting on it. I should run a very good chance of being hand-spiked before the night was over. If you want to know what it was, Mr. Tom, I went on with my politest air,

although in agony from the nugget underneath, for I hold it is always best to be polite to a man who is so ready with a hand-spike. My boy and I have had a slight difference of opinion, and I was enforcing my view of the matter upon him. that's all. Yes, Mr. Tom, but in Harry, beginning to weep, for Harry was a smart boy and saw the difficulty we were in. That was it.

I hallowed because father beat me. Well, now, did you, my dear boy? Did you? Well, all I can say is that a played-out old claim is a wonderful queer sort of place to come to for to argify at ten o'clock of night. And what's more, my sweet youth, if ever I should have the argifying of you,

and he leered unpleasantly at Harry, you won't holler in quite such a jolly sort of way. And now, I'll be saying good night, for I don't like disturbing of a family party. Now, I ain't that sort of man I ain't. Good night to you, unto Quatermain, good night to you, my argified young one. And Mr Tom turned away disappointed,

and prowled off elsewhere, like a human jackal, to see what he could thief or kill. "'Thank goodness,' I said as I slipped off the lump of gold. "'Now then, do you get up, Harry, and see if that consummate villain has gone?' Harry did so, and reported that he had vanished towards pilgrim's rest, and then we set to work, and very carefully but trembling with excitement, with our hands hollowed out all the space of ground into which I had struck the pick.

Yes, as I hoped there was a regular nest of Nagu-Gern, 12 in all, running from the size of a hazelnut to that of a hen's egg, though of course the first one was much larger than that. How they all came there, nobody can say. It was one of those extraordinary freaks, with stories of which, at any rate, all people acquainted with alluvial gold mining will be familiar. It turned out afterwards that the American who sold me the claim

had in the same way made his pile, a much larger one than ours, by the way, out of a single pocket, and then worked for six months without seeing colour, after which he gave it up. At any rate, there the nuggets were, to the value as it turned out afterwards of about £1,250, so that after all I took out of that whole £450 more than I put into it. We got them all out and wrapped them up in a handkerchief,

and then, fearing to carry home so much treasure, especially as we knew that Mr. Hans Spike Tom was on the prowl, made up our minds to pass the night where we were, a necessity which, disagreeable as it was, was wonderfully sweetened by the presence of that handkerchief, full of virgin gold, the interest of my lost half-sovereign. Slowly the night wore away, for with the fear of Hans-Spike Tom before my eyes,

I did not dare to go to sleep, and at last the dawn came. I got up and watched its growth, till it opened like a flower upon the eastern sky, and the sunbeams began to spring in slender from mountaintop to mountain top. I watched it, and as I did so, it flashed upon me with a complete conviction which I had not felt before, that I had had enough of gold mining to last me the rest of my natural life, and I then and there made up my mind to clear out of pilgrim's rest

and go and shoot buffalo towards Delagoa Bay. Then I turned, took the pick and shovel, and although it was a Sunday morning, woke up Harry, and set to work to see if there were any more nuggets about. As I expected there were none. What we had got had lain together in a little pocket, filled with soil that felt quite different from the stiff stuff round and outside the pocket.

There was not another trace of gold. Of course it is possible that there were more pocketfuls somewhere about, but all I have to say is, I made up my mind that whoever found them, I should not, and as a matter of fact, I have since heard that this claim has been the ruin of two or three people, as it very nearly was the ruin of me. Harry, I said presently,

I am going away this week towards Delagoa to shoot Buffalo, "'Shall I take you with me, or send you down to Durban?' "'Oh, take me with you, father,' begged Harry. "'I want to kill a buffalo.' "'And supposing that the buffalo kills you instead,' I asked. "'Oh, never mind,' he said gaily. "'There are lots more where I came from.' "'I rebuked him for his flippancy,

but in the end I consented to take him.' "'Eend of part sixteen. "'Part seventeen of Alan's wife and other tales by H. Rider Haggard. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. A Tale of Three Lions. Chapter 2. What was found in the pool? Something over a fortnight had passed since the night when I had lost half a sovereign

and found £1,250 in looking for it. And instead of that horrid hole, for which, after all, Eldorado was scarcely a misnomer, a very different scene stretched away before us. clad in the silver robe of the moonlight. We were camped, Harry and I, two kaffirs, a scotch cart and six oxen, on the swelling side of a great wave of bush-clad land.

Just where we had made our camp, however, the bush was very sparse and only grew about in clumps, while here and there were single flat-topped mimosa trees. To our right, a little stream which had cut a deep channel for itself in the bosom of the slope, flowed musically on between banks green with maiden hair, wild asparagus and many beautiful grasses.

The bedrock here was red granite, and in the course of centuries of patient washing, the water had hollowed out some of the huge slabs in its path into great troughs and cups, and these were used for bathing places. No Roman lady, with her baths of porphyry or alabaster, could have had a more delicious spot to bathe herself than we found within 50 yards of our skirm, or rough enclosure of mimosa thorn,

that we had dragged together round the cart to protect us from the attacks of lions. That there were several of these brutes about, I knew from their spoor, though we had neither heard nor seen them. Our bath was a little nook where the eddy of the stream had washed away a mass of soil, and on the edge of it there grew a most beautiful old mimosa thorn. beneath the thorn was a large smooth slab of granite, fringed all round with maiden hair, and other ferns that sloped gently down to a pool

of the clearest sparkling water, which lay in a bowl of granite about ten feet wide by five deep in the centre. Here to this slab we went every morning to bathe, and that delightful bath is among the most pleasant of my hunting reminiscences, as it is also, for reasons which will presently appear, among the most painful. It was a lovely night.

Harry and I sat to the windward of the fire, where two kaffirs were busily employed in cooking some impala steaks of a buck which Harry, to his great joy, had shot that morning, and were as perfectly contented with ourselves and the world at large as two people could possibly be. The night was beautiful, and it would require somebody with more words on the tip of his tongue than I have, to describe properly the chastened majesty of those moonlit wilds.

Away forever and forever, away to the mysterious north, rolled the great bush ocean over which the silence brooded. There beneath us a mile or two to the right ran the wide oliphants, and a mirror-like flashed back the moon, whose silver spears were shivered on its breast, and then tossed in twisted lines of light, far and wide about the mountains and the plain. Down upon the river banks grew great timber trees

that through the stillness pointed solemnly to heaven and the beauty of the night lay upon them like a cloud. Everywhere was silence, silence in the star-depths, silence on the bosom of the sleeping earth. Now, if ever, great thoughts might rise in a man's mind, and for a space, he might forget his littleness, in the sense that he partook of the pure immensity about him. Hark, what was that?

From far away down by the river there comes a mighty rolling sound. Then another and another, it is the lion seeking his meat. I saw Harry shiver and turn a little pale. He was a plucky boy enough, but the roar of a lion heard for the first time in the solemn bushfelt's at night is apt to shake the nerves of any lad. "'Lions, my boy,' I said. "'They are hunting down by the river there,

"'but I don't think that you need make yourself uneasy. "'We have been here three nights now, "'and if they were going to pay us a visit, "'I believe that they would have done so before this. "'However, we will make up the fire. "'Here, Pharaoh, do you and Jim Jim get some more wood "'before we go to sleep, "'else the cats will be purring round you before morning.'

"'Ferroarrow, a great brawny, Swazi who had been working for me at pilgrim's rest, laughed, rose, and stretched himself, then, calling to Jim Jim to bring the axe and a rhyme, started off in the moonlight towards a clump of sugarbush, where we cut our fuel from some dead trees. He was a fine fellow in his way was Pharaoh, and I think that he had been named Pharaoh because he had an Egyptian cast of countenance and a royal sort of swagger about him. But his way was a somewhat peculiar way on account of the uncertainty of his temper, and very few people could get on with him. Also, if he could find liquor, he would drink like a fish, and when he drank, he became

shockingly bloodthirsty. These were his bad points, his good ones were, that, like most people of the Zulu blood, he became exceedingly attached if he took to you at all. He was a hard-working and intelligent man, and about as daredevil and plucky. a fellow at a pinch as I have ever had to do with. He was about five and thirty years of age or so, but not a Keshler or ringed man. I believe that he had got into trouble in some way in Swaziland, and the authorities of his tribe would not allow him to assume the ring,

and this is why he came to work at the goldfields. The other man, or rather lad, Jim Jim, was a Mapok kaffir, or nob-nose, and even in the light of subsequent events, I fear that I cannot speak very well of him. He was an idle and careless young rascal, and only that very morning I had to tell Pharaoh to give him a beating for letting the oxen stray, which Pharaoh did with the greatest gusto,

although he was by way of being very fond of Jim Jim. Indeed, I saw him consoling Jim Jim afterwards with a pinch of snuff from his own earbox, while he explained to him that the next time it came in the way of duty to flog him, he meant to thrash him with the other hand, so as to cross the old cuts and make a pretty pattern on his back. Well, off they went,

though Jim Jim did not at all like leaving the camp at that hour, even when the moonlight was so bright, and in due course returned safely enough with a great bundle of wood. I laughed at Jim Jim and asked him if he had seen anything, and he said yes he had. He had seen two large yellow eyes staring at him from behind a bush, and heard something snore. As, however, on further investigation,

the yellow eyes and the snore appeared to have existed only in Jim Jim's lively imagination. I was not greatly disturbed by this alarming report, but having seen to the making up of the fire, got into the skirm and went quietly to sleep with Harry by my side. Some hours afterwards, I woke up with a start. I don't know what woke me. The moon had got.

down, or at least was almost hidden behind the soft horizon of bush, only her red rim being visible. Also, the wind had sprung up, and was driving long hurrying lines of cloud across the starry sky, and altogether a great change had come over the mood of the night. By the look of the sky, I judged that we must be about two hours from daybreak. The oxen, which were as usual tied to the disill boom of the Scotch cart, were very restless, They kept snuffling and blowing and rising up and lying down again, so I at once suspected that they must win something. Presently I knew what it was that they winded,

for within fifty yards of us, a lion roared, not very loud, but quite loud enough to make my heart come into my mouth. Pharaoh was sleeping on the other side of the cart, and looking beneath it, I saw him raise his head and listen. Lion, in cuss, he whispered, Lion! Jim Jim also jumped up, and by the faint light I could see that he was in a very great fright indeed. Thinking that it was as well to be prepared for emergencies, I told Pharaoh to throw wood upon the fire and woke up, Harry,

who I verily believe was capable of sleeping happily through the crack of doom. He was a little scared at first, but presently the excitement of the position came home, to him and he grew anxious to see his majesty face to face. I got my rifle handy and gave Harry his, a Wesley Richards falling block, which is a very useful gun for a youth, being light and yet a good killing rifle, and then we waited.

For a long time nothing happened, and I began to think that the best thing we could do would be to go to sleep again, when suddenly I heard a sound more like a cough than a roar, within about 20 yards of the skirm. We all looked out but could see nothing, and then followed another period of suspense. It was very trying to the nerves this waiting for an attack

that might be developed from any quarter, or might not be developed at all. And though I was an old hand at this sort of business, I was anxious about Harry, for it is wonderful how the presence of anybody to whom one is attached and nerves a man in moments of danger. I know, although it was now chilly enough, I could feel the perspiration running down my nose,

and in order to relieve the strain on my attention employed myself in watching a beetle which appeared to be attracted by the firelight and was sitting before it thoughtfully, rubbing his antennae against each other. Suddenly the beetle gave such a jump that he nearly pitched headlong into the fire, and so did we all, gave jumps, I mean, and no wonder,

for from right under the skirm fence there came a most frightful roar, a roar that literally made the scotch cart shake and took the breath out of me. Harry made an exclamation, Jim Jim howled outright, while the poor oxen, who were terrified almost out of their hides, shivered and loed piteously. The night was on,

almost entirely dark now, for the moon had quite set and the clouds had covered up the stars, so that the only light we had came from the fire, which by this time was burning up brightly again. But as you know, firelight is absolutely useless to shoot by, it is so uncertain, and besides, it penetrates but a very little way into the darkness, although, if one is in the dark outside, one can see it from so far away. Presently the oxen, after standing still for a moment, suddenly winded the lion, and did what I feared they would do, began to scree, that is, to try and break loose from the trecto

to which they were tied, and rush off madly into the wilderness. Lions know of this habit on the part of oxen, which are, I do believe, the most foolish animals under the sun, a sheep being a very Solomon compared to them. And it is by no means uncommon for a lion, lion to get in such a position that a herd or span of oxen may wind him, skrek, break their rhymes and rush off into the bush. Of course, once there, they are helpless in the dark,

and then the lion chooses the one that he loves best, and eats him at his leisure. Well, round and round went our six poor oxen, nearly trampling us to death in their mad rush. Indeed, had we not hastily tumbled out of the way, we should, should have been trodden to death or at the least seriously injured. As it was, Harry was run over, and poor Jim Jim, being caught by the trecto somewhere beneath the arm, was hurled right across the skirm, landing by my side only some paces off.

Snap went the disill-boom of the cart beneath the transfer strain put upon it. Had it not broken, the cart would have overset, as it was, in another minute, oxen, cart, trecto, rhymes, broken disillbom, and everything, was soon tied in one vast heaving, plunging, bellowing, and seemingly inextricable knot. For a moment or two, this state of affairs took my attention off from the lion that had caused it. But whilst I was wondering what an earth was to be done next, and how we should manage if the cattle broke loose into the bush and were lost, the cattle frightened in this manner will go straight away like mad things.

My thoughts were suddenly recalled to the lion in a very painful fashion, for at that moment I perceived by the light of the fire a kind of gleam of yellow travelling through the air towards us. "'The lion! the lion!' hollered Pharaoh, and as he did so, he or rather she, for it was a great gaunt lioness, half-wild no doubt with hunger, lit right in the middle of the skirm and stood there in the smoky gloom, lashing her tail and roaring. I seized my rifle and fired it at her,

but what, between the confusion, my agitation and the uncertain light, I missed her, and nearly shot Pharaoh. The flash of the rifle, however, threw the whole scene into strong relief, and a wild sight it was, I can tell you, with the seething mass of oxen twisted all round the cart in such a fashion that their heads looked

as though they were growing out of their ramps, and their horns seemed to protrude from their backs. The smoking fire with just a blaze in the heart of the smoke, Jim Jim and the foreground, where the oxen had thrown him in their wild rush, stretched out there in terror, and then, as a centre to the picture, the great gaunt lioness glaring round with hungry yellow eyes,

roaring and whining as she made up her mind what to do. It did not take her long, however, just the time that it takes the flash to die, into darkness, for, before I could fire again or do anything, with a most fiendish snort, she sprang upon poor Jim Jim. I heard the unfortunate lad shriek, and then, almost instantly, I saw his legs thrown into the air. The lioness had seized him by the neck, and with a sudden jerk thrown his body over her back so that his legs hung down upon the further side. Editors note, I have known a lion carry a two-year-old ox over a stone wall four feet high in this fashion

and a mile away into the bush beyond. He was subsequently poisoned by strickenine put into the carcass of the ox, and I still have his claws. End of note. Then, without the slightest hesitation, and apparently without any difficulty, she cleared the skirm fence at a single bound, and bearing poor Jim Jim with her,

vanished into the dark. darkness beyond, in the direction of the bathing place that I have already described. We jumped up, perfectly mad with horror and fear, and rushed wildly after her, firing shots at haphazard on the chance that she would be frightened by them into dropping her prey. But nothing could we see, and nothing could we hear. The lioness had vanished into the darkness, taking Jim Jim with her, and to attempt to follow her till daylight was madness. We should only expose ourselves to the risk of a like fate.

So, with scared and heavy hearts, we crept back to the skirm and sat down to wait for the dawn, which now could not be more than an hour off. It was absolutely useless to try even to disentangle the ox until then, so all that was left for us to do was to sit and wonder how it came to pass. that the one should be taken and the other left, and to hope against hope that our poor servants might have been mercifully delivered from the lion's jaws. At length the faint dawn came stealing like a ghost

up the long slope of bush, and glinted on the tangled oxen's horns. And with white and frightened faces, we got up and set to the task of disentangling the oxen till such time as there should be light enough to enable us to follow the trail of the lioness, which had gone off with Jim Jim. And here a fresh trouble awaited us, for when at last with infinite difficulty we had disentangled the great helpless brutes,

it was only to find that one of the best of them was very sick. There was no mistake about the way he stood, with his legs slightly apart and his head hanging down. He had got the red water. I was sure of it. Of all the difficulties connected with life and truels, travelling in South Africa, those connected with oxen are perhaps the worst. The ox is the most exasperating animal in the world, a negro accepted.

He has absolutely no constitution and never neglects an opportunity of falling sick of some mysterious disease. He will get thin upon the slightest provocation and from mere maliciousness die of poverty, whereas it is his chief delight to turn round and refuse to pull whenever he finds himself well in the centre of a river or the wagon wheel nicely fast in a mud hole. Drive him a few miles over rough roads and you will find that he is footsore. Turn him loose to feed and you will discover that he has run away, or if he has not run away, he has, of malice of forethought, eaten tulip and poisoned himself.

There is always something wrong with him. The ox is a brute. It was of a peace with his accustomed behaviour for, the one in question to break out, on purpose probably, with redwater, just when a lion had walked off with his herd. It was exactly what I should have expected, that I was therefore neither disappointed nor surprised. Well, it was no use crying, as I should almost have liked to do, because if this ox had redwater, it was probable that the rest of them had it too, although they had been sold to me as salted, that is, proof against such diseases as redwater and lung-sick.

One gets hardened to this sort of thing in South Africa in course of time, for I suppose in no other country in the world is the waste of animal life so great. So, taking my rifle and telling Harry to follow me, for we had to leave Pharaoh to look after the oxen, Pharaoh's lean kind, I call them. I started to see if anything could be found of or appertaining to the unfortunate Jim Jim. The ground round our little camp was hard and rocky, and we could not hit off any spore of the lioness,

though just outside the skirm we saw a drop or two of blood. About 300 yards from the camp, and a little to the right, was a patch of sugarbush, mixed up with the usual mimosa, and for this I made, thinking that the lioness would have been sure to take her prey there to devour it. On we pushed through the long grass that was bent down beneath the weight of the soaking dew. In two minutes we were wet through, through up to the thighs, as wet as though we had waded through water.

In due course, however, we reached the patch of bush, and by the grey light of the morning, cautiously and slowly pushed our way into it. It was very dark under the trees, for the sun was not yet up, so we walked with the most extreme care, half expecting every minute to come across the lioness licking the bones of poor Jim Jim. But no lioness could we see. and as for Jim Jim, there was not even a finger joint of him to be found. Evidently, they had not come here.

So, pushing through the bush, we proceeded to hunt every other likely spot, but with the same result. I suppose she must have taken him right away, I said at last, sadly enough. At any rate, he will be dead by now, so God have mercy on him. We can't help him. What's to be done now? I suppose that we had better wash our circumstances. in the pool, and then go back and get something to eat. I am filthy, said Harry.

This was a practical, if somewhat unfeeling, suggestion. At least it struck me as unfeeling, to talk of washing when poor Jim Jim had been so recently eaten. However, I did not let my sentiment carry me away, so he went down to the beautiful spot that I have described to wash. I was the first to reach it, which I did by scramble. down the ferny bank. Then I turned round and started back with a yell, as well I might, for almost from beneath my feet there came a most awful snarl. I had lit nearly upon the back of the lioness that had been sleeping on the slab where we always stood to dry ourselves after bathing. With a snarl and a growl, before I could do anything, before I could even cock my rifle,

she had bounded right across the crystal pool and vanished over the opposite bank. It was all done in an instant, as quick as thought. She had been sleeping on the slab, and oh, horror, what was that sleeping beside her? It was the red remains of poor Jim Jim lying on a patch of blood-stained rock. Oh, father, father! shrieked Harry. Look, in the water! I looked. There, floating in the centre of the lovely tranquil pool was Jim Jim's head. The lioness had bitten it right off, and it had rolled down the sloping rock into the water.

End of Part 17. Part 18 of Alan's Wife and Other Tales by Age Rider Haggard. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. A Tale of Three Lions. Chapter 3. Jim Jim is avenged. We never bathed in that pool again. Indeed, for my part, I could never look at its peaceful purity, fringed round with waving ferns, without thinking of that ghastly head which rolled itself off

through the water when we tried to catch it. Poor Jim Jim! We buried what was left of him, which was not very much, in an old breadbag, and though whilst he lived, his virtues, were not great. Now that he was gone, we could have wept over him. Indeed, Harry did weep outright, while Pharaoh used very bad language in Zulu, and I registered a quiet little vow on my account that I would let daylight into that lioness before I was 48 hours older, if by any means it could be

done. Well, we buried him, and there he lies in the breadbag, which I rather grudged him, as it was the only one we had, where lions will not trouble him anymore, though perhaps the hyenas will if they consider that there is enough of him left to make it worth their while to dig him up. However, he won't mind that, so there is an end to the book of Jim Jim. The question that now remained was how to circumvent his murderess. I knew that she would be sure to return as soon as she was hungry again, but I did not know when she would be hungry. She had left so little of Jim Jim behind her that I should scarcely expect to see her the next night, unless indeed she had cubs. Still, I felt that it would not be wise to miss the chance of her coming, so we set about

making preparations for her reception. The first thing that we did was to strengthen the bushwall of the skirm, by dragging a large quantity of the tops of thorn trees together and laying them one on the other in such a fashion that the thorns pointed outwards. This, after our experience of the fate of Jim Jim, seemed a very necessary precaution. Since if where one goat can jump, another can follow, as the kaffirs say, how much more is this the case when an animal so active and so vigorous as the lion is concerned. And now came the further question, How were we to beguile the lioness to return?

Lions are animals that have a strange knack of appearing when they are not wanted and keeping studiously out of the way when their presence is required. Of course it was possible that if she had found Jim Jim to her liking, she would come back to see if there were any more of his kind about, but still it was not to be relied on. Harry, who, as I have said, was an eminently practical boy, suggested to Pharaoh that he should go and sit outside the skirm in the moonlight as a sort of bait, assuring him that he would have nothing to fear,

as we should certainly kill the lioness before she killed him. Pharaoh, however, strangely enough, did not seem to take to this suggestion. Indeed, he walked away, much put out with Harry for having made it. It gave me an idea, however. By Jove, I said, there is the sick ox. He must die sooner or later, so we may as well utilize him. Now, about thirty yards to the left of our skirm, as one stood facing down the hill towards the river,

was the stump of a tree that had been destroyed by lightning many years before, standing equidistant between, but a little in front of, two clumps of bush, which were severally some fifteen paces from it. Here was the very place to tie the evening. ox. And accordingly, a little before sunset, the sick animal was led forth by Pharaoh, and made fast there, little-knowing poor brute, for what purpose? And we began our long vigil, this time without a fire, for our object was to attract the lioness and not to scare her. For hour after hour we waited, keeping ourselves awake by pinching each other.

It is, by the way, remarkable what a difference of opinion has to the force of Pinch's requisite to the occasion exists in the mind of Pinscher and Pinched, but no lioness came. At last the moon went down, and darkness swallowed up the world, as the Caffirs say, but no lion came to swallow us up.

We waited till dawn, because we did not dare to go to sleep, and then at last, with many bad thoughts in our hearts, we took such rest as we could get, and that was not much. That morning we went out shooting, not because we wanted to, for we were too depressed and tired, but because we had no more meat. For three hours or more we wandered about in a broiling sun, looking for something to kill, but with absolutely no results. For some unknown reason, the game had grown very scarce about the spot, though when I was there two years before,

every sort of large game except rhinoceros and elephant was particularly abundant. The lions, of whom there were many, alone remained, and I fancy that it was the fact of the game they live on, having temporarily migrated, which made them so daring and ferocious. As a general rule, a lion is an amiable animal enough, if he is left alone, but a hungry lion is almost as dangerous as a hungry man. one hears a great many different opinions expressed as to whether or no the lion is remarkable for his courage but the result of my experience is that very much depends upon the state of his stomach

a hungry lion will not stick at a trifle whereas a full one will flee at a very small rebuke well we hunted all about and nothing could we see not even a diker or a bush book and at last thoroughly tired and out of temper, we started on our way back to camp, passing over the brow of a steepish hill to do so. Just as we climbed the crest of the ridge I came to a stand, for there, about 600 yards to my left, his beautiful curved horns outlined against the soft blue of the sky, I saw a noble kudu bull, strepsisarius kudu.

Even at that distance, for as you know my eyes are very keen, I could distinctly see the white stripes upon its side when the light fell upon it, and its large and pointed ears twitch as the flies worried it. So far so good, but how were we to get at it? It was ridiculous to risk a shot at that great distance, and yet both the ground and the wind lay very ill for stalking. It seemed to me that the only chance would be to make a detour of at least a mile or more and come up on the other side of the kudu.

I called Harry to my side and explained to him what I thought would be our best course, when suddenly, without any delay, the kudu saved us further trouble by suddenly starting off down the hill like a leaping rocket. I do not know what had frightened it, certainly we had not. Perhaps a hyena or a leopard,

a tiger, as we call it there, had suddenly appeared. At any rate, off it went, running slightly towards us, and I never saw a buck go faster. I am afraid that forgetting Harry's presence, I used strong language, and really there was some excuse. As for Harry, he stood watching the beautiful animals course. Presently it vanished behind a patch of bush

to emerge a few seconds later about 500 paces from us on a stretch of comparatively level ground that was strewn with boulders. On it went, clearing the boulders in its path with a succession of great bounds that were beautiful to behold. As it did so, I happened to look round at Harry and perceived, to my astonishment, that he had got his rifle to his shoulder. "'You young donkey!' I exclaimed. "'Surely you are not going to!'

and just at that moment the rifle went off. And then I think I saw what was in its way, one of the most wonderful things I ever remember in my hunting experience. The kudu was at the moment in the air, clearing a pile of stones with its forelegs tucked up underneath it. All of an instant, the legs stretched themselves out in a spasmodic fashion, it's lit on them, and they doubled up beneath it. down went the noble buck down upon his head for a moment he seemed to be standing on his horns his hind legs high in the air and then over he rolled and lay still great heavens i said why you've hit him he's dead

as for harry he said nothing but merely looked scared as well he might for such a marvellous i may say such an appalling and ghastly fluke it has never been my lot to witness. A man, let alone a boy, might have fired a thousand such shots without ever touching the object, which, mind you, was springing and bounding over rocks quite five hundred yards away. And here, this lad, taking a snapshot, and merely allowing for speed and elevation by instinct,

for he did not put up his sights, had knocked the bull over as dead as a doorknail. Well, I made no further further. remark, the occasion was too solemn for talking, but merely led the way to where the kudu had fallen. There he lay, beautiful and quite still, and there, high up about halfway down his neck, was a neat round hole. The bullet had severed the spinal marrow, passing through the vertebrae and away on the other side. It was already evening when, having cut as much of the best meat as we could carry from the bull and tied a red handkerchief and some tufts of grass to his spiral

horns, which by the way must have been nearly five feet in length, in the hope of keeping the jackals and arsfergles, vultures from him, we finally got back to camp to find Pharaoh, who was getting rather anxious at our absence ready to greet us with the pleasing intelligence that another ox was sick. But even this dreadful bit of intelligence could not dash Harry's spirits. The fact of the matter being, incredible as it may appear, I do verily believe that in his heart of heart he set down the death of that kudu to the credit of his own skill. Now, though the lad was a pretty shot enough, this of course was ridiculous, and I told him so very plainly. By the time that we had finished us, supper of kudu steaks, which would have been better if the kudu had been a little younger,

it was time to get ready for Jim Jim's murderous. Accordingly, we determined again to expose the unfortunate sick ox that was now absolutely on its last legs, being indeed scarcely able to stand. All the afternoon, Pharaoh told us, it had been walking round and round in a circle as cattle in the last stage of red water generally do. Now it had come to a standstill and was swaying to and fro with its head hanging down. So we tied him up to the stump of the tree,

as on the previous night, knowing that if the lioness did not kill him, he would be dead by morning. Indeed, I was afraid that he would die at once, in which case he would be of but little use as a bait, for the lion is a sportsman-like animal, and unless he is very hungry, generally prefers to kill his own dinner,

the when that is once killed, he will come back to it again and again. Then we again went through our experience of the previous night, sitting there hour after hour till at last Harry fell asleep, and though I am accustomed to this sort of thing, even I could scarcely keep my eyes open. Indeed, I was just dropping off, when suddenly Pharaoh gave me a push.

Listen, he whispered. I was awake in a second and listening with all my ears. From the clump of bush to the right of the lightning-shattered stump to which the sick ox was tied came a faint crackling noise. Presently it was repeated. Something was moving there, faintly and quietly enough, but still moving perceptibly, for in the intense still stillness of the night,

any sound seemed loud. I woke up Harry, who instantly said, Where is she? Where is she? And he began to point his rifle about, in a fashion that was more dangerous to us and the oxen than to any possible lioness. Be quiet, I whispered savagely, and as I did so, with a low and hideous growl,

a flash of yellow light sped out of the clump of bush, past the ox and into the corresponding clump on the, the other side. The poor sick creature gave a sort of groan, staggered round and then began to tremble. I could see it do so clearly in the moonlight, which was now very bright, and I felt a brute for having exposed the unfortunate animal to such agony as she must undoubtedly be undergoing. The lioness, for it was she, passed so quickly that we could not even distinguish her movements, much less fire. Indeed at night,

it is absolutely useless to attempt to shoot unless the object is very close and standing perfectly still, and then the light is so deceptive, and it is so difficult to see the foresight that the best shot will miss more often than he hits. She will be back again presently, I said, Look out, but for heaven's sake, don't fire unless I tell you to.

Hardly were the words out of my mouth, when back she came, and again passed the ox without striking him. "'What on earth is she doing?' whispered Harry, playing with it as a cat does with a mouse, I suppose. She will kill it presently. As I spoke, the lioness once more flashed out of the bush, and this time sprang right over the doomed and trembling ox. It was a beautiful sight to see her clear him in the bright moonlight,

as though it were a trick which she had, had been taught. I believe that she has escaped from a circus, whispered Harry. It's jolly to see her jump. I said nothing, but I thought to myself that if it was, Master Harry did not quite appreciate the performance, and small blame to him. At any rate, his teeth were chattering a little.

Then came a longish pause, and I began to think that the lioness must have gone away, when suddenly she appeared again, and with one mighty bound, landed right on the ox, and struck it a frightful blow with her paw, down it went and lay on the ground, kicking feebly. She put down her wicked-looking head, and with a fierce growl of contentment,

buried her long white teeth in the throat of the dying animal. When she lifted her muzzle again, it was all stained with blood. She stood facing us obliquely, licking her bloody chops and making a sort of purring noise. Now is our time, I whispered, Fire when I do! I got on to her as well as I could,

but Harry, instead of waiting for me as I told him, fired before I did, and that, of course, hurried me. But when the smoke cleared, I was delighted to see that the lioness was rolling about on the ground behind the body of the ox, which covered her in such a fashion, however, that we could not shoot again to make an end of her. She's done for! She's dead, the yellow devil,

yelled Pharaoh in exultation, and at that very moment, the lioness, with a sort of convulsive rush, half rolled, half sprang into the patch of thick bush to the right. I fired after her as she went, but so far as I could see without result. Indeed, the probability is that I missed her clean. At any rate she got to the bush in safety

and once there began to make such a diabolical noise as I have never heard before. She would whine and shriek with pain and then burst out into perfect volleys of roaring that shook the whole place. Well, I said, we must just let her roar. To go into that bush after her at night would be madness. At that moment, to my astonishment,

and alarm, there came an answering roar from the direction of the river, and then, another from behind the swell of bush. Evidently, there were more lions about. The wounded lioness redoubled her efforts with the object, I suppose, of summoning the others to her assistance. At any rate, they came, and quickly too, for within five minutes, peeping through the bushes of our skirm fence, we saw a magnificent lion bounding along towards us through the tall tambouki grass that in the moonlight looked for all the world like ripening corn. On he came in great leaps, and a glorious sight it was to see him. When within fifty yards or so he stood still in an open space and roared, the lioness roared too. Then there came a third roar and another great

black-bained lion, stalked majestically up and joined number two, till really, I began to realise what the ox must have undergone. Now, Harry, I whispered, Whatever you do, don't fire, it's too risky. If they let us be, let them be. Well, the pair marched off to the bush, where the wounded lioness was now roaring double tides, and the three of them began to snarl and grumble away together there.

Presently, however, the lioness ceased roaring, and the two lions came out again, the black-mained one first, to prospect, I suppose, walk to where the carcass of the ox lay and sniffed at it. Oh, what a shot! whispered Harry, who was trembling with excitement. Yes, I said,

but don't fire! They might all of them comfort us. Harry said nothing, but whether it was from the natural impetuosity of youth, or because he was thrown off his balance by excitement, or from sheer recklessness and devilment, I am sure I cannot tell you, never having been able to get a satisfactory explanation from him. But at any rate, the fact remains,

he, without word or warning, entirely disregarding my exhortations, lifted up his Wesley Richards and fired at the black-mained lion, and what is more, hit it slightly on the flank. Next second, there was a most awful roar from the injured lion. He glared around him and roared with pain, for he was sadly stung. And then, before I could make up my mind what to do, the great black-mained brute, clearly ignorant of the cause of his hurt,

sprang right at the throat of his companion, to whom he evidently attributed his misfortune. It was a curious sight to see the astonishment of the other lion at this most unprovoked assault. Over he rolled with an angry snarl, and onto him sprang the black mane demon and began to worry him. This finally awoke the yellow mane lion to a sense of the situation, and I am bound to say that he rose to it in a most effective manner.

Somehow or other he got to his feet, and, roaring and snarling frightfully, closed with his mighty foe. Then ensued a most tremendous scene. You know what a shocking thing it is to see two large dogs fighting with abandonment. Well, a whole hundred of dogs could not have looked half so terrible as these two great brutes, as they rolled and roared and rent in their horrid rage.

They gripped each other, they tore at each other's throat, till their mains came out in handfuls, and the red blood streamed down their yellow hides. It was an awful and wonderful thing to see the great cats tearing at each other with all the fierce energy of their savage strength, and making the night hideous with their heart-shaking noise.

And the fight was a grand one too. For some minutes it was impossible to say which was getting the best of it, but at last I saw that the black-mained lyeen lyeye'lough. lion, though he was slightly the bigger, was failing. I am inclined to think that the wound in his flank crippled him. Anyway, he began to get the worst of it, which served him right as he was the aggressor. Still, I could not help feeling sorry for him, for he had fought a gallant fight, when his antagonist finally got him by the throat, and, struggle and strike out as he would,

began to shake the life out of him. Over and over they rolled together a hideous and awe-inspiring spectacle, but the yellow one would not lose his hold, and at length poor black mane grew faint. His breath came in great snores and seemed to rattle in his nostrils. Then he opened his huge mouth, gave the ghost of a roar, quivered, and was dead. When he was quite sure that the victory was his own, the yellow mane lion loosed his grip and sniffed at the fallen foe. Then he licked the dead lion's eye,

and next, with his four feet resting on the carcass, sent up his own chance of victory that went rolling and peeling down the dark paths of the night. And at this point I interfered, taking a careful sight at the centre of his body in order to give the largest possible margin for error, I fired and sent a 0.570 express bullet right through him, and down he dropped dead upon the carcass of his mighty foe.

After that, fairly satisfied with our performances, we slept peaceably till dawn, leaving Pharaoh to keep watch, in case any more lions should take it into their heads to come our way. When the sun was well up, we arose and went very cautiously, at least Pharaoh and I did, for I would not allow Harry to come, to see if we could find any trace of the wounded lioness. She had ceased roaring immediately on the arrival of the two lions

and had not made a sound since, from which we concluded that she was probably dead. I was armed with my express, while Pharaoh, in whose hands a rifle was indeed a dangerous weapon to his companions, had an axe. On our way we stopped to look at the two dead lions. They were magnificent animals, both of them, but their pelts were entirely spoiled by the terrible mawling they had given to each other,

which was a sad pity. In another minute we were following the blood spore of the wounded lioness into the bush where she had taken refuge. This, I need hardly say, we did with the utmost caution. Indeed, I for one did not at all. like the job, and was only consoled by the reflection that it was necessary, and that the bush was not thick. Well, we stood there, keeping as far from the trees as possible, searching and looking about, but no lioness could we see, though we saw plenty of blood. She must have gone somewhere

to die, Pharaoh, I said in Zulu. Yes, Inkos, he answered. She has certainly gone away. Hardly were the words out of his mouth When I heard a roar And starting round saw the lioness emerge from the very centre of a bush In which she had been curled up just behind Pharaoh Up she went onto her hind legs And as she did so

I noticed that one of her forepours Was broken near the shoulder For it hung limply down Up she went Towering right over Pharaoh's head As she did so lifting her uninjured paw to strike him to the earth. And then, before I could get my rifle round or do anything to avert the coming catastrophe, the Zulu did a very brave and clever thing.

Realising his own imminent danger, he bounded to one side and swinging the heavy axe round his head, brought it down right onto the back of the lioness, severing the vertebrae and killing her instantaneously. It was wonderful to see her collapse. It was wonderful to see her collapse, all in a heap like an empty sack. My word, Pharaoh, I said. That was well done, and none too soon. Yes, he answered with a little laugh. It was a good stroking ghost.

Jim Jim will sleep better now. Then, calling Harry to us, we examined the lioness. She was old, if one might judge from her worn teeth, and not very large, but thickly made, and must have possessed extraordinary vitality to have lived so long, shot as she was. For in addition to her broken shoulder, my express bullet had blown a great hole in her middle that one might have put a fist into.

Well, that is the story of the death of poor Jim Jim and how we avenged it. It is rather interesting in its way because of the fight between the two lions, of which I never saw the like in all my experience, and I know something of lions and their manners. And how did you get back to Pilgrim's Rest? I asked Antiquetermain when he had finished his yarn. Ah, we had a nice job with that, he answered.

The second sick ox died, and so did another, and we had to get on as best we could with three harnessed unicorn fashion, while we pushed behind. We did about four miles a day, and it took us nearly a month, during the last week of which we pretty well starved. I notice, I said, that most of your trips ended in disaster of some sort or another, and yet you went on making them, which strikes one as a little strange. Yes, I dare say, but then, remember, I got my living for many years out of hunting.

Besides, half the charm of the thing lay in the dangers and disasters, though they were terribly enough at the time. Another thing is, my trips were not all disastrous. Sometime, if you like, I will tell you a story of one which was very much the reverse, for I made several thousand pounds out of it, and saw one of the most extraordinary sights a hunter ever came across. It was on this trip that I met the bravest native woman I ever knew. Her name was Maiwa, but it is too late now, and besides,

I am tired of talking about myself. pass the water will you end of part 18 end of a tale of three lions by h rider haggard part 19 of alan's wife and other tales by h rider haggard this librivox recording is in the public domain long odds the story which is narrated in the following pages came to me from the lips of my old friend alan quatermain or hunter quatermain as we used to call him in south africa he told it to me one evening when I was stopping with him at the place he bought in Yorkshire. Shortly after that, the death of his only son so unsettled him that he immediately left England, accompanied by two companions, his old fellow voyagers, Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good, and has now utterly vanished into the dark heart of Africa. He has persuaded that a white people, of which he has heard rumours all his life,

exists somewhere on the highlands in the vast still unexplored interior, had his great ambition as to find them before he dies. This is the wild quest upon which he and his companions have departed, and from which I shrewdly suspect they never will return. One letter only have I received from the old gentleman, dated from a mission station high up the Tanna, a river on the east coast, about three hundred miles north of Zanzibar.

in it he says they have gone through many hardships and adventures but are alive and well and have found traces which go far towards making him hope that the results of their wild quest may be a magnificent and unexampled discovery I greatly fear however that all he has discovered is death for this letter came a long while ago and nobody has heard a single word of the party since they have totally vanished

It was on the last evening of my stay at his house that he told the ensuing story to me and Captain Good who was dining with him. He had eaten his dinner and drunk two or three glasses of old port just to help Good and myself to the end of the second bottle. It was an unusual thing for him to do, for he was a most abstemious man, having conceived, as he used to say,

a great horror of drink from observing its effects upon the class of men, Hunters, transport riders, and others, amongst whom he had passed so many years of his life. Consequently, the good wine took more effect on him than it would have done on most men, sending a little flush into his wrinkled cheeks and making him talk more freely than usual. Dear old man, I can see him now as he went,

limping up and down the vestibule, with his grey hair sticking up in scrubbing brush fashion, his shrivelled yellow face and his large dark eyes that were as keen as any hawks and yet soft as a bucks. The whole room was hung with trophies of his numerous hunting expeditions, and he had some story about every one of them, if only he could be got to tell them. Generally he would not, for he was not very fond of narrating his own adventures, but tonight the port wine made him more communicative. "'Ah, you brute!' he said, stopping beneath an unusually large skull of a lion,

which was fixed just over the mantelpiece beneath a long row of guns, its jaws distended to their utmost width. "'Ah, you brute! You have given me a lot of trouble for the last dozen years, and will I suppose, to my dying day?' "'Tell us the yarn, Quatermain,' said good. "'You have often promised to tell me, and you never have. You had better not ask me to, he answered, for it's a longish one. All right, I said, the evening is young, and there is some more port.

Thus, Sir George, he filled his pipe from a jar of coarse-cut more tobacco that was always standing on the mantelpiece, and still walking up and down the room began. It was, I think, in the March of 69, that I was up in Sikaguni's country. It was just after old Sequati's time, and Sikokuni had got into power. I forget how. Anyway, I was there. I had heard that the Bapedi people had brought down an enormous quantity of ivory from the interior, and so I started with a wagonload of goods, and came straight away from Middleburg to try and trade some of it.

It was a risky thing to go into the country so early on account of the fever, but I knew that there were one or two others after that sort of ivory, so I determined to have a try for it and take my chance of fever. I had become so tough from continual knocking about that I did not set it down at much. Well, I got on all right for a while. It's a wonderfully beautiful piece of bush felt, with great ranges of mountains running through it,

and round granite copies starting up here and there, looking out like sentinels over the rolling waste of bush. But it is very hot, hot as a stewpan, and when I was there that March, which of course is autumn in this part of Africa, the whole place reeked of fever. Every morning as I trekked along down by the Oliphant River, I used to creep from the wagon at dawn and look out.

But there was no river to be seen, only a long line of billows of what looked like the finest cotton wool, tossed up lightly with a pitchfork. It was the fever mist. Out from among the scrub too came little spirals of vapour, as though there were hundreds of tiny fires alight in it, reek rising from thousands of tonnes of rotting vegetation.

It was a beautiful place, but the beauty was the beauty of death, and all those lines and blots of vapour wrote one great word across the surface of the country, and that word was fever. It was a dreadful year of illnesses that. I came, I remember, to one little kraal of knob noses, and went up to it to see if I could get some mass or curdled buttermilk

and a few mealy's. As I drew near, I was struck with the silence of the place. No children began to chatter, and no dogs barked, nor could I see any native sheep or cattle. The place, though it had evidently, been recently inhabited was as still as the bush round it, and some guinea fowl got up out of the prickly pear bushes right at the Kral Gate. I remember that I hesitated a little before going in. There was such an air of desolation about the spot. Nature never looks desolate when man has not yet

lady's hand upon her breast. She is only lonely. But when man has been and has passed away, then she looks desolate. Well, I passed into the corral and went up to the principal hut. In front of the hut was something with an old sheepskin carross thrown over it. I stooped down and drew off the rug and then shrank back amazed, for under it was the body of a young woman, recently dead. For a moment I thought of turning back, but to my curiosity overcame me. So, going past the dead woman, I went down on my hands and knees and crept into the hut. It was so dark that I could not see anything, though I could smell a great deal, so I lit a match.

It was a tan-stick-a-match, and burned slowly and dimly, and as the light gradually increased, I made out what I took to be a family of people, men, women and children, fast asleep. Presently it burnt up brightly, and I saw that they two, five of them altogether were quite dead. One was a baby. I dropped the match in a hurry, and was making my way from the hut as quick as I could go, when I caught sight of two bright eyes staring out of a corner. Thinking it was a wildcat or some such animal, I redoubled my haste, when suddenly a voice near the eyes began first to matter,

and then to send up a succession of awful yells. Hastily I lit another match and perceived that the eyes belong to an old woman wrapped up in a greasy leather garment. Taking her by the arm, I dragged her out, for she could not or would not come by herself, and the stench was overpowering me.

Such a sight as she was, a bag of bones covered over with black shrivelled parchment, the only white thing about her, was her wool, and she seemed to be pretty well dead except for the eyes and her voice. She thought that I was a devil come to take her, and that is why she yelled so. Well, I got her down to the wagon and gave her a tot of Cape Smoke, and then, as soon as it was ready, poured about a pint of beef tea down her throat, made from the flesh of a blue wilder base that I had killed the day before, and after that she brightened up wonderfully.

She could talk Zulu. Indeed, it turned out that she had run away from Zululand in Chakka's time, and she told me that all the people whom I had seen had died of fever. When they had died, the other inhabitants of the Kral had taken the cattle and gone away, leaving the poor old woman who was helpless from age and infirmity, to perish of starvation or disease, as the case may be. She had been sitting there for three days among the body, when I found her. I took her on to the next kraal and gave the headman a blanket to look after her, promising him another if I found her well when I came back. I remembered that he was much astonished

at my parting with two blankets for the sake of such a worthless old creature. Why did I not leave her in the bush? he asked. Those people carry the doctrine of the survival of the fittest to its extreme, you see. It was the night after I had got rid of the old woman that I made my first acquaintance with my friend yonder, and he nodded towards the skull that seemed to be grinning down at us in the shadow of the wide mantel shelf. I had trekked from dawn till eleven o'clock, a long trek, but I wanted to get on, and had turned the oxen out to graze, sending the forloper to look after them, my intention being to inspan again about six o'clock, and trek with the moon until ten.

"'Then I got into the wagon and had a good sleep till half-past two or so in the afternoon, "'when I rose and cooked some meat and had my dinner, "'washing it down with a panicking of black coffee, "'for it was difficult to get preserved milk in those days. "'Just as I had finished, and the driver, a man called Tom, "'was washing up the things. "'In comes the young scoundrel of a forloper, "'driving one ox before him.

"'Where are the other oxen? asked. Coose, he said, Coos, the other oxen have gone away. I turned my back for a minute, and when I looked around again, they were all gone, except Captain here, who was rubbing his back against a tree.

You mean that you have been asleep and let them stray, you villain? I will rub your back against a stick, I answered, feeling very angry, for it was not a pleasant prospect to be stuck up in that fever trap for a week or so, while we were

hunting for the oxen. Of you go, and you too, Tom, and mind you don't come back till you have found them. They have trekked back along the Middleburg road, and are a dozen miles off by now, I'll be bound. Now, no words, go, both of you. Tom, the driver, swore, and caught the lad a hearty kick,

which he richly deserved, and then, having tied old captain up to the Dissalboom with a rhyme, they took their assegais and sticks and started. I would have gone too, only I knew that somebody must look after the wagon, and I did not like to leave either of the boys with it at night. I was in a very bad temper indeed, although I was pretty well used to these sort of occurrences, and soothed myself by taking a rifle and going to kill something.

For a couple of hours I poked about without seeing anything that I could get a shot at, but at last, just as I was again within 70 yards of the wagon, I put up and hold him parlour ram from behind a mimosa thorn. He ran straight for the wagon, and it was not till he was passing within a few feet of it as I could get a decent shot at him. Then I pulled, and caught him halfway down the spine. Over he went, dead as a doorknail,

and a pretty shot it was, though I ought not to say it. This little incident put me into rather a better humour, especially as the book had rolled over right against the after part of the wagon, so I had only to gut him, fix a rhyme round his legs, and haul him up. By the time I had done this, the sun was down and the full moon was up, and a beautiful moon it was. And then there came down that wonderful hush, which sometimes falls over the African bush,

in the early hours of the night. No beast was moving and no bird called, not a breath of air stirred the quiet trees, and the shadows did not even quiver, they only grew. It was very oppressive and very lonely, for there was not a sign of the cattle or the boys. I was quite thankful for the society of old captain, who was lying down contentedly against the disillbom,

chewing the cud with good conscience. Presently, however, Captain began to get restless. First he snorted, then he got up and snorted again. I could not make it out, so like a fool I got down off the wagon box to have a look round, thinking it might be the lost box and coming. Next instant I regretted it, for all of a sudden, I heard a roar and saw something yellow flash past me and light on poor Captain. Then came a bellow of agony from the ox,

and a crunch as the lion put his teeth through the poor brute's neck, and I began to realise what had happened. My rifle was in the wagon, and my first thought, being to get hold of it, I turned and made a boat for it. I got my foot on the wheel and flung my body forward onto the wagon, and there I stopped as if I were frozen, and no wonder, for as I was about to spring up, I heard the lion behind me, and next second I felt the brute, I, as plainly as I can feel this table,

I felt him, I say, sniffing at my left leg that was hanging down. My word, I did feel queer. I don't think that I ever felt so queer before. I dared not move for the life of me, and the odd thing was that I seemed to lose power over my leg, which had an insane sort of inclination to kick out of its own mere motion, just as hysterical people want to laugh when they ought to be particularly solemn. Well, the lion sniffed and sniffed, beginning at my ankle and slowly nosing away up to my thigh. I thought that he was going to get hold then, but he did not.

He only growled softly and went back to the ox. Shifting my head a little, I got a full view. of him, he was about the biggest lion I ever saw, and I have seen a great many, and he had a most tremendous black mane. What his teeth were like, you can see, look there, pretty big ones, ain't they? Altogether he was a magnificent animal, and as I lay there, sprawling on the foretong of the wagon, it occurred to me that he would look uncommonly well in a cage. He stood there by the carcass of poor captain, and deliberately disembowled him as neatly as a butcher could have done. All this while I dared not move, for he kept lifting his head and keeping an eye on me as he licked

his bloody chops. When he had cleaned captain out, he opened his mouth and roared, and I am not exaggerating when I say that the sound shook the wagon. Instantly they came back and answering roar. "'Heavens, I thought, there is his mate!' "'Hardly was the thought out of my head "'when I caught sight in the moonlight of the lioness, "'bounding along through the long grass, "'and after her a couple of cubs about the size of mastiffs.

"'She stopped within a few feet of my head and stud, "'weaved her tail and fixed me with her glowing yellow eyes. "'But just as I thought that it was all over, "'she turned and began to feed on captain, and so did the cubs. There were the four of them within eight feet of me, growling and quarrelling, rending and tearing,

and crunching poor captain's bones. And there I lay, shaking with terror, and the cold perspiration pouring out of me, feeling like another Daniel, come to judgment in a new sense of the phrase. Presently the cubs had eaten their fill and began to get restless, one went round to the back of the waggon,

and pulled at the Empala book that hung there, and the other came round my way, and commenced the sniffing game at my leg. Indeed, he did more than that, for, my trouser being hitched up a little, he began to lick the bare skin with his rough tongue. The more he licked, the more he liked it, to judge from his increased vigour

and the loud purring noise he made. Then I knew that the end had come, for in another second his fight. like tongue would have rasped through the skin of my leg, which was luckily pretty tough, and have tasted the blood, and then there would be no chance for me. So, I just lay there and thought of my sins

and prayed to the Almighty, and reflected that after all, life was a very enjoyable thing. Then, all of a sudden, I heard a crashing of bushes, and the shouting and whistling of men, and there were the two boys coming back, with the cattle, which they had found trekking along altogether.

The lions lifted their heads and listened, then bounded off without a sound, and I fainted. The lions came back no more that night, and by the next morning my nerves had got pretty straight again, but I was full of wrath when I thought of all that I had gone through at the hands, or rather noses, of those four brutes, and of the fate of my after-awks captain, He was a splendid ox, and I was very fond of him. So wrath was I, that's like a fool I determined to attack the whole family of them. It was worthy of a greenhorn out on his first hunting trip, but I did it nevertheless. Accordingly, after breakfast, having rubbed some oil upon my leg,

which was very sore from the Cubs' Tong, I took the driver Tom, who did not half like the business, and having armed myself with an ordinary double number 12 smoothbore, the first breech-loader I ever had, I started. I took the smooth-bore because it shot a bullet very well, and my experience has been that a round ball from a smooth-bore is quite as effective against a lion as an express bullet. The lion is soft and not a difficult animal to finish

if you hit him anywhere in the body. A book takes far more killing. Well, I started, and the first thing I set to work to do was to try to discover whereabouts the brutes lay up for the day. About 300 yards from the wagon was the crest of a rise, covered with single mimosa trees, dotted about in a park-like fashion, and beyond this was a stretch of open plain,

running down to a dry pan or waterhole, which covered about an acre of ground, and was densely clothed with reeds, now in the sear and yellow leaf. From the further edge of this pan, the ground sloped up again to a great cleft or nullar, which had been cut out by the action of the water, and was pretty thickly sprinkled with bush, amongst which grew some large trees.

I forget of what sort. It at once struck me that the dry pan would be a likely place to find my friends in, as there is nothing a lioness fonder of than lying up in reeds, through which he can see things without being seen himself. Accordingly, thither I went and prospected. Before I had got halfway round the pan, I found the remains of a blue wildebeester that had evidently been killed within the last three or four days,

and partially devoured by lions. And from other indications about, I was soon assured that if the family were not in the pan, that day, they spent a good deal of their spare time there. But if there, the question was how to get them out, for it was clearly impossible to think of going in after them unless one was quite determined to commit suicide. Now there was a strong wind blowing from the direction of the wagon

across the reedy pan towards the bush-clad clouf, or donga, and this first gave me the idea of firing the reeds, which, as I think I told you, were pretty dry. Accordingly, Tom took some matches and began starting little fires to the left, and I did the same to the right. But the reeds were still green at the bottom, and we should never have got them well alight, and it not been for the wind,

which grew stronger and stronger as the sun climbed higher, and forced the fire into them. At last, after half an hour's trouble, the flames got a hold and began to spread out like a fan, whereupon I went round to the further side of the pan to wait for the lions, standing well out in the open as we stood at the cops today where you shot to the woodcock. It was a rather risky thing to do, but I used to be so sure of my shooting in those days

that I did not much mind the risk. Scarcely had I got round when I heard the reeds parting before the onward rush of some animal. Now for it, said I, on it came. I could see that it was yellow and prepared for action when instead of a lion outbounded a beautiful rite-bock, which had been lying in the shelter of the pan. It must, by the way, have been a right-bock

of a peculiarly confiding nature to lay itself down with the lion like the lamb of prophecy. But I suppose the reeds were thick, and that it kept a long way off. Well, I let the right-bock go, and it went like the wind, and kept my eyes fixed upon the reeds. The fire was burning like a furnace now,

the flames crackling and roaring as they bit into the reeds, sending spouts of fire twenty feet and more into the air, and making the hot air dance above it in a way that was perfectly dazzling. But the reeds were still, half green and created an enormous quantity of smoke, which came rolling towards me like a curtain, lying very low on account of the wind. Presently, above the crackling of the fire, I heard a startled roar, then another and another. So, the lions were at home. I was beginning

to get excited now, for, as you fellows know, there is nothing in experience to warm up your nerves like a lion at close quarters, unless it is a wounded buffalo, and I became still more so when I made out through the smoke that the lions were all moving about on the extreme edge of the reeds. Occasionally they would pop their heads out like rabbits from a burrow, and then, catching sight of me standing about fifty yards away, draw them back again. I knew that it must be getting pretty worn behind them, and that they could not keep up the game for long. And I was not mistaken, for suddenly all four of them broke cover together, the old black main lion leading by a few yards.

I never saw a more splendid sight in all my hunting experience than those four lions bounding across the veld, overshadowed by the dense pall of smoke, and backed by the fiery furnace of the burning reeds. I reckoned that they would pass on their way to the bushy clouf within about five and twenty yards of me. So, taking a long breath, I got my gun well onto the lion's shoulder, the black-made one, so as to allow for an inch or two of motion and catch him through the heart. I was on, dead on, and my finger was just beginning to tighten on the trigger when suddenly

I went blind, a bit of redash had drifted into my right eye. I danced and rubbed and succeeded in clearing it more or less just in time to see the tail of the last lion vanishing round the bushes up the cloof. If ever a man was mad, I was that man. It was too bad, and such a shot in the open. However, I was not going to be beaten, so I just turned and marched for the car. Clough. Tom the driver begged and implored me not to go, but though as a general rule I never

pretend to be very brave, which I am not, I was determined that I would either kill those lions or they should kill me. So I told Tom that he need not come unless he liked, but I was going. And being a plucky fellow, a swazzy by birth, he shrugged his shoulders, muttered that I was mad or bewitched, and followed doggedly in my tracks. We soon reached the cloof, which was about three hundred yards in length, and but smartly wooded, and then the real fun began. There might be a lion behind every bush. There certainly were four lions somewhere. The delicate question was, where? I peeped and poked and looked in every possible direction with my heart in my mouth,

and was at last rewarded by catching a glimpse of something yellow moving behind a bush. At the same moment from another bush opposite me, outburst one of the cubs and galloped back towards the burnt pan. I whipped round and let drive a snapshot that tipped him head over heels, breaking his back within two inches of the root of the tail, and there he lay helpless but glaring,

Tom afterwards killed him with his assegai. I opened the breach of the gun and hurriedly pulled out the old case, which, to judge from what ensued, must I suppose have burst and left a portion of its fabric sticking to the barrel. At any rate, when I tried to get in the new cartridge, it would only enter halfway, and, would you believe it, this was the moment that the lioness, attracted no doubt by the outcry of her cub,

chose to put in an appearance. There she stood, twenty paces or so from me, lashing her tail, and looking just as wicked as it is possible to conceive. Slowly I stepped backwards, trying to push in the new case, and as I did so,

she moved on in little runs, dropping down after each run. The danger was imminent, and the case would not go in. At the moment I oddly enough thought of the cartridge maker, whose name I will not mention, and earnestly hoped that if the lion got me, some condign punishment would overtake him. It would not go in, so I tried to pull it out, it would not come out either, and my gun was useless if I could not shut it to use the other barrel. I might as well have

had no gun. Meanwhile, I was walking backward, keeping my eye on the lioness. who was creeping forward on her belly without a sound, but lashing her tail and keeping her eye on me, and in it I saw that she was coming in a few seconds more. I dashed my wrist and the palm of my hand against the brass rim of the cartridge till the blood poured from them. Look, there are the scars of it to this day. Here, Quatermain held up his right hand to the light,

and showed us four or five white cicatresses, just where the wrist is set into the hand. But it was not of the slightest use, he went on. The cartridge would not move. I only hope that no other man will ever be put in such an awful position. The lioness gathered herself together, and I gave myself up for lost. When suddenly Tom shouted out from somewhere in my rear,

you are walking onto the wounded cub. Turn to the right. I had the sense, dazed as I, was to take the hint and slewing round at right angles but keeping my eyes on the lioness i continued my backward walk to my intense relief with a low growl she straightened herself turned and bounded further up the clough come on incoose said tom let's get back to the wagon all right tom i answered i will when i have killed those three other lions for by this time i was bent on shooting them as i never remember being bent on anything before or since. You can go if you like, or you can get up a tree. He considered the position a little, and then he wisely got up a tree. I wish that I had done the same. Meanwhile, I had found my knife which had an extractor in it, and succeeded after some difficulty

in pulling out the cartridge, which had so nearly been the cause of my death and removing the obstruction in the barrel. It was very little thicker than a postage stamp, certainly not thicker than a piece of writing paper. This done, I loaded the gun, bound a handkerchief round my wrist, and had to staunch the flowing of the blood, and started on again. I had noticed that the lioness went into a thick green bush, or rather cluster of bushes, growing near the water, about fifty yards higher up, but there was a little stream running down the cluff, and I walked, towards this bush. When I got there, however, I could see nothing, so I took up a big stone and threw it into the bushes. I believe that it hits the other cub, for out it came with a rush,

giving me a broadside shot of which I promptly availed myself, knocking it over dead. Out too came the lioness, like a flash of light, but quick as she went I managed to put the other bullet into her ribs, so that she rolled right over three times like a shot rabbit. I instantly got two more cartridges into the gun, and as I did so, the lioness rose again and came crawling towards me on her forepaws, roaring and groaning, and with such an expression of diabolical fury on her countenance as I have not often seen. I shot her again through the chest, and she fell over onto her side, quite dead. That was the first and last time that I ever killed a brace of lions right and left,

and, what is more, I never heard of anybody else doing it. Naturally, I was considerably pleased with myself, and having again loaded up, I went on to Luke for the black-mained beauty who had killed Captain. Slowly, and with the greatest care, I proceeded up the clovey, searching every bush and tuft of grass as I went. It was wonderfully exciting work, for I never was sure from one moment to another, but that he would be on me.

I took comfort, however, from the reflection that a lion rarely attacks a man. Rarely, I say, sometimes he does, as you will see, unless he is cornered or wounded. I must have been nearly an hour hunting after that lion. Once I thought I saw something moving, in a clump of tambuqi grass, but I could not be sure that when I trot out the grass I could not find him. At last I worked up to the head of the clough which made a cul-de-sac. It was formed of a wall

of rock about fifty feet high. Down this rock trickled a little waterfall, and in front of it, some seventy feet from its face was a great piled-up massive boulders in the crevices, and on the top of which grew ferns, grasses, and stunted bushes. This mass was about twenty-five feet high. The sides of the clouphier were also very steep. Well, I came to the top of the Nuller and looked all round, no signs of the lion. Evidently I had either overlooked him further down,

or he had escaped right away. It was very vexatious, but still, three lions were not about, bag for one gun before dinner, and I was fain to be content. Accordingly, I departed back again, making my way round the isolated pillar of boulders, beginning to feel as I did so that I was pretty well done up with excitement and fatigue, and should be more so before I had skinned those three lions. When I had got as nearly as I could judge about eighteen yards past the pillar, or massive boulders,

I turned to have another look round. I have a pretty sharp eye, but I could see nothing at all. Then, on a sudden, I saw something sufficiently alarming. On top of the massive boulders opposite to me, standing out clear against the rock beyond, was the huge black-mained lion. He had been crouching there, and now arose as though by magic.

There he stood, lashing his tail, just like a living reproduction of the animal on the gateway of Northumberland house as I have seen in a picture. But he did not stand long. Before I could fire, before I could do more than get the gun to my shoulder, he sprang straight up and out from the rock, and driven by the impetus of that one mighty bound, came hurtling through the air towards me.

Heavens, how grand he looked and how awful! high into the air he flew, describing a great arch. Just as he touched the highest point of his spring, I fired. I did not dare to wait, for I saw that he would clear the whole space and land right upon me. Without a sight, almost without aim, I fired as one would fire a snapshot as a snipe. The bullet told, for I distinctly heard its thud above the rushing, sound caused by the passage of the lion through the air. Next second I was swept to the ground.

Luckily I fell into a low creeper-clad bush which broke the shock, and the lion was on top of me, and the next those great white teeth of his had met in my thigh. I heard them great against the bone. I yelled out in agony, for I did not feel in the least benammed and happy like Dr. Livingstone, who by the way I knew. very well and gave myself up for dead. But suddenly as I did so, the lion's grip on my thigh loosened, and he stood over me, swaying to and fro, his huge mouth from which the blood

was gushing, wide opened. Then he roared, and the sound shook the rocks. To and fro he swung, and suddenly the great head dropped on me, knocking all the breath, from my body, and he was dead. My bullet had entered in the centre of his chest and passed out on the right side of the spine, about halfway down the back. The pain of my wound kept me from fainting, and as soon as I got my breath,

I managed to drag myself from under him. Thank heavens, his great teeth had not crushed my thigh bone, but I was losing a great deal of blood, and had it not been for the timely arrival of Tom, with whose aid I loosed the handkerchief from my wrist and tied it round my leg, twisting it tight with a stick. I think that I should have bled to death. Well, it was a just reward for my folly in trying to tackle a family of lions single-handed.

The odds were too long. I have been lame ever since, and shall be to my dying day. In the month of March, the wound always troubles me a great deal, and every three years it breaks out raw. I need scarcely add that I never traded the lot of ivory at Sikokunis. Another man got it, a German, and made £500 out of it after paying expenses. I spent the next month on the broad of my back, and was a cripple for six months after that. And now I have told you the yarn.

So I will have a drop of hollands and go to bed. Good night, you all. Good night. End of Part 19. End of Long Odds. End of Alan's Wife and Other Tales by H. Rider Haggard.