"Now try again," invited Colonel Narfield, addressing the headman. "We have quelled the magic spirit of the water. You will be no longer in peril. Take out the gift." It was quite a long time before the native could master sufficient courage to renew the attempt. Trembling in every limb, he cautiously dipped his finger in the innocuous liquid and quickly withdrew it. Satisfying himself that so far the Great One's word was truth, he thrust in his hand and triumphantly obtained possession of the mirror.
"Hau!" he exclaimed. "The magic is eaten up. There is no longer anything to be feared. Perhaps, O Great One," he added darkly, "the magic that surrounds your kraal may likewise be dispersed. See, I place my hand in the water again. It—oh! oh! oh!"
Literally beside himself with fear, the headman took to his heels, ran across the courtyard, and disappeared through the gate of the stockade.
His panic was infectious, his companions also bolting in terror. Outside the fence they stopped only to recover their weapons, and then at a terrific pace they disappeared along the rough track leading to Sibenga's Kraal.
"Another example of 'Electricity in the Service of Man,'" remarked Herbert Narfield as he proceeded to disconnect the wires attached to the jar of water and a powerful battery. "So the old lab. at Stockmere proved a sound thing, eh, Colin? But I am afraid," he added gravely, "we haven't heard the last of Sibenga and his missing horses. We'll have to keep our weather eye lifting, or some night the old reprobate will ply his people with stiff doses of native beer and send them down to Kilembonga to do a bit of Bolshevik work."
"Fighting?" asked Tiny.
"Hardly—perhaps, though. At any rate they'll probably try to fire the buildings and stampede the cattle. Just at present they've got the wind up pretty badly."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Colin, looking along the track. "There is a weird-looking fellow coming this way. What mischief is he up to?"