"Hearken, Great One," he continued. "I have twenty good oxen. If my witch-doctor fails to give you the knowledge you seek, then they are yours."
Wynyard was on the point of contemptuously declining the offer when Van der Wyck interposed.
"Let him try, Mr. Wynyard," advised the old man. "Times before I have both heard and seen these wizards at work in the Transvaal and Zululand. I have no faith in their methods, but their results are sometimes very wonderful. Out of darkness we may find light."
"Very well," agreed Wynyard grumblingly, "Let the jolly old jamboree proceed."
The witch-doctor needed no second bidding. With many weird and unintelligible incantations he lighted a fire on the very spot that had so frequently been pointed out during the last three days. Then he began dancing and capering violently, at times literally treading in the midst of the flames with his bare feet.
After about ten minutes of this sort of thing he suddenly collapsed in a heap, his head resting on his knees, at the same time emitting mournful howls.
"O Talula!" exclaimed Logula, addressing the semi-conscious wizard. "Tell me, have you smelt out the White Man-who-wears-the-Sacred-Amulet?"
"I have, O Chief."
"What do you see—blood?"
"I see no blood."