"In the morning when I rose the goats were still in the village, and I was angry with my son because he had not taken them to the lands. I called to him, but he did not answer. I went to his hut, and found him very stiff. He told me that Chiromo had killed him; that he had much pain in his arms and legs and neck, and that he could not move. I tried to lift him, but he cried out with pain. At sunset he died. Oh, Morena, Chiromo has killed my son. My son who herded my goats. And to-night I myself shall die. Chiromo is indeed a great doctor. My case is a big one. A case of killing people by witchcraft. I, too, will——"
The Native Commissioner interrupted the man. "Enough, now you may go to the compound, where you will sleep to-night; you will not die, because I must talk with you again."
The man clapped his hands, bowed his forehead several times to the floor, patted his chest, rose and withdrew, praising the Native Commissioner as the custom is:
"Great Chief."
"Father of his people."
"The very great doctor."
"Sir, my best thanks."
"The Chief of our country."
"The lion, the great elephant, the Chief."
The head messenger was about to go too, but the Commissioner stopped him.