The king in his patience sat in his hut, and Sanders found him.
"You will stay here, Milini," he commanded, "and no blame shall come to you for anything that may happen this night."
"What will happen, master?"
"Who knows!" said Sanders, philosophically.
The streets were in pitch darkness, but Abiboo, carrying a lantern, led the way. Only occasionally did the party pass a tenanted hut. Generally they saw by the dull glow of the log that smouldered in every habitation that it was empty. Once a sick woman called to them in passing. It was near her time, she said, and there was none to help her in the supreme moment of her agony.
"God help you, sister!" said Sanders, ever in awe of the mysteries of birth. "I will send women to you. What is your name?"
"They will not come," said the plaintive voice. "To-night the men go out to war, and the women wait for the great dance."
"To-night?"
"To-night, master—so the ghosts of brass decree."
Sanders made a clicking noise with his mouth.