The boy turned, and called to the men to keep back.
“Good! You will be a chief some day.”
“I am a chief now,” said the boy proudly, “since my father is killed.”
A strange light leapt from Sirayo’s eyes. “Take that, O chief, and tell me what it is!” and he held out something, after sticking the point of his assegai in the ground.
The boy looked at the gigantic figure before him, then snatched the thing, and held it close to his eyes.
“It is the war-plume of my father—Umkomaas.”
“Yebo. He lives; but he is in danger, and if you would save him you must obey me. Say that to the people.”
The boy turned instantly and shouted the message, whereupon the women came forward, while the men talked.
“How do we know this is true?” asked an old man suspiciously.
“You know by the plume, by the word that your chief lies in the old place of stones, by the wound I received in his defence, by the sign of the snakeskin round my arm. I have said enough. Let those who obey the chief Umkomaas stand on this side.”