“No wrong? Hau! And is treachery no wrong?” said the chief, his tone now stern and denunciatory.
“Treachery? Now has some evil person been poisoning the ears of my father,” replied the prisoner, who fully realised the desperate strait he was in. “I would like to see that person.”
“Evil person, indeed; but he did not live long after his treachery had been found out. But he was a Kafula, and thou, Sebela, art one of ourselves. Whau, Sebela!”
“Whau, Sebela!” roared the squatting group in abhorrent contempt.
“But if he is dead he cannot speak now, my father,” pleaded the other, grasping at a straw. “It is only the word of one man, and he is a liar.”
“We shall see. First of all, what is the name of the other man who was with thee at Ezulwini?”
“Now it is of some one else my father is talking. Not for a long time past have I been at Ezulwini, and then it was alone,” was the answer.
“That is the first lie,” said Sapazani. Then turning to the others, “A dog who betrays his father’s house, what should be his fate?”
A roar went up—savage, vengeful, simultaneous.
“The fire! Give this dog to us, father. There is the fire all ready.”