So matters went as they might in a dream. The sun had sunk completely,

not even an after-glow was left. The only light remaining was that

from the smouldering fires, which just sufficed to illumine the bulk of

Zikali, lying on his side, his squat shape looking like that of a dead

hippopotamus calf. What was left of my consciousness grew heartily sick

of the whole affair; I was tired of being so empty.

At length the dwarf stirred. He sat up, yawned, sneezed, shook himself,

and began to rake among the burning embers of my fire with his naked

hand. Presently he found the white stone, which was now red-hot--at any

rate it glowed as though it were--and after examining it for a moment

finally popped it into his mouth! Then he hunted in the other fire for

the black stone, which he treated in a similar fashion. The next thing I

remember was that the fires, which had died away almost to nothing, were

burning very brightly again, I suppose because someone had put fuel on

them, and Zikali was speaking.

"Come here, O Macumazana and O Son of Matiwane," he said, "and I will

repeat to you what your spirits have been telling me."

We drew near into the light of the fires, which for some reason or other

was extremely vivid. Then he spat the white stone from his mouth into

his big hand, and I saw that now it was covered with lines and patches

like a bird's egg.

"You cannot read the signs?" he said, holding it towards me; and when I

shook my head went on: "Well, I can, as you white men read a book. All

your history is written here, Macumazahn; but there is no need to tell

you that, since you know it, as I do well enough, having learned it in

other days, the days of Dingaan, Macumazahn. All your future, also, a

very strange future," and he scanned the stone with interest. "Yes, yes;

a wonderful life, and a noble death far away. But of these matters you

have not asked me, and therefore I may not tell them even if I wished,

nor would you believe if I did. It is of your hunting trip that you have

asked me, and my answer is that if you seek your own comfort you will do

well not to go. A pool in a dry river-bed; a buffalo bull with the

tip of one horn shattered. Yourself and the bull in the pool. Saduko,

yonder, also in the pool, and a little half-bred man with a gun jumping

about upon the bank. Then a litter made of boughs and you in it, and the

father of Mameena walking lamely at your side. Then a hut and you in it,

and the maiden called Mameena sitting at your side.




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