Chapter Eighteen.
The Refugees of the Ngome.
At first I liked it not, for strange tagati beings are about in the darkness—half-man, half-beast—who rend those that wander alone at night. But even of such I felt no fear then, wherefore I went straight to the spot whence the sound came; and, ready to use my spear if need be, called out to know who it was that spoke.
The answer came almost beneath my feet, and in the darkness I could make out a form lying there. I bent down and touched it. It was the form of a woman.
“Remain by me till dawn,” gasped a voice hoarse with pain and fear. “Those horrible beasts. They will rend me again. Oh, kill me, for I suffer agonies!”
“Who art thou?” I said, not liking this encounter.
“Nomshasa, the wife of Untúswa,” came the feeble answer.
Whau, Nkose! Then, indeed, did I well-nigh leap for amazement. For the name was that of one of my Swazi wives—that one who had mysteriously disappeared, and whom I had never expected to behold again. Bending over her, I strove, to raise her head; but as I moved her, though ever so gently, she shrieked.
“Ah—touch me not! I am torn in pieces. Those horrible beasts! Put me out of my pain. One blow at the back of the head will do it.”