And simultaneously appeared in the gloom of the undergrowth three pairs of eyes as luminous as the glowworm, vaster than any human; and beside the souls of the dead King-Gods were terrible hands. Warriors and wizards, all save Bakahenzie and Zalu Zako, literally leaped for the forest and village in one convulsive bound and grunt. Zalu Zako had remained upon the ground, green with terror. Bakahenzie stood upright, his scarlet feather fluorescent in the fire-glow. The anthem of the forest was only broken by the rustle of branches and the breathing of Zalu Zako and Bakahenzie. A harsh voice cried:
“Begone, Bakahenzie, son of a dog! Lest we take thy soul to be with us!”
The eyes appeared to float nearer; hands pointed menacingly. Bakahenzie boggled; hesitated; then the dignity of his pose melted into the graceful bounds of a fleeing leopard. Even for the professional ghost manipulator, such a phenomenon of the spirits, with whom he was supposed to be on familiar terms, was demoralizing. But half-way through a thicket of undergrowth, where he could no longer see the horrific eyes, his courage began to return.
To his ears came a new voice chanting:
“Sweeter than warm honey is the scent of my man!
Fiercer than scorpions is the grip of his hand!
Whiter than a spear flash is the gleam of his teeth!
Smoother than river stone is the feel of his chest!
Bakuma rejoices!”
Peering through the interstices Bakahenzie could see the gleam of the fire upon the bangles of the Son-of-the-Snake and the blue flash upon his spear as he melted into the forest wall.