Again from the far hillside came the wild slogan. And now the indunas echoed the astonishment of their chief. The guard on the ridge was aroused.
All manner of expressions flitted across Ingonyama’s face—rage, mortification, intense puzzlement. The cry should have rung out loud and clear, considering the short distance which lay between the kraal and the ridge, whereas it sounded miles and miles away. The real fact, however, being that the first alarm was completely drowned by the noise and uproar of the war-dance, and the song in honour of the chief, and by this time the guards were far enough away in pursuit of Gerard. John Dawes felt every nerve thrill within him. The critical moment had arrived.
“Thou liest, Jandosi,” said Ingonyama, and a look of stern and deadly meaning came over his features, grim and ferocious, scowling beneath the great jaws of the lion. “Thou liest, Jandosi. Thy brother has fled; attempted to flee, rather,” he added significantly; “for no man ever quitted the kraal of the Igazipuza without bidding farewell to its chief.”
“Am I responsible for what he has done?” answered Dawes, coolly. “He is young, remember, and young blood is restless blood. Perchance he was tired of sitting still for ever.”
“Am I a child—are these children, Jandosi, that you fill up our ears with such tales as this?” said the chief sternly. “Where is your brother?”
“Am I an owl—am I a bat, Ingonyama, that you would strain my eyes into seeing through the dark? If, as you say, my brother has fled, how then can I tell where he is at this moment? Rather should the question come from me to yourself, whom men name as an Isanusi (witch-doctor, or seer) of renown.”
“Hau!” burst from the councillors in wild amaze at the audacity of this white man.
“Your eyes?” echoed Ingonyama, and his voice came low and trembling with suppressed fury. “Your eyes, Jandosi? Há! You shall not indeed strain your eyes seeing through the dark, for I will make them dark for ever.”
The fell meaning of the tone and words was plain to John Dawes. The crisis had come.
“Move not,” he returned quickly, his decisive ringing tone arresting as by magic the signal which the chief was about to make. “Before that happens we will sit in darkness together. Stir but a finger, Ingonyama, and the tribe Igazipuzi may proceed to the election of a new chief.”