“Then ask Him to take away this disease, and if He complies, then we will be His servants. Will you do this?”
“I will pray to God that He will be pleased to remove it. Whether He will do so or not, rests with Him.”
Chuma hesitated. His belief in De Walden was shaken by what had happened, but not wholly overthrown. Maomo saw his embarrassment, and hastened to interfere.
“Chief,” he said, “it is not by prayers, which are but words, that the White Falsehood—man has prevailed on the Evil Spirits to send this curse upon our people. Nor will it be by prayers that he can prevail on them to take it off again. There are sacrifices that he offers to his gods. I know that he was seen to pour water on Gaiké’s forehead, and utter some charm while he did so. I know that there are sacrifices which he renders, when he will suffer no one but his white companions to be present. Ask him, and he cannot deny this?”
“How is this?” said Chuma, turning again to De Walden; “you hear what the rainmaker says. Is it true?”
“It is true that we have rites at which none but believers are allowed to be present,” returned De Walden.
“Will you offer these to your gods, that the plague may be removed from the cattle of the Bechuanas?”
“It is not enough that you make him promise that,” interposed Maomo again, dreading that De Walden would comply with this request, and so avert, for the time at all events, the chief’s anger. “He must do so in public, so that you and all our people may be sure that he really sacrifices to his god.”
“You hear, white man,” said Chuma, sternly; “do you consent?”
“I cannot profane holy mysteries in such a manner,” was the answer. “I will pray, and offer what you call sacrifices in secret, but not before you.”