ay in the fact that Nanzicele aspired
to join the ranks of the Abantwana 'Mlimo. Shiminya, on the other hand,
was resolved that the hierarchy of the Great Abstraction would be better
without him, and was breaking this resolve as gently as might be.

But Nanzicele had been drinking. He had obtained some gin among certain
overlooked loot of a sacked store, and Nanzicele, foiled in his objects,
and half drunk, was a very unpleasant customer indeed, not to say a
sufficiently formidable one.

Now he was raising his voice threateningly, jeering Shiminya, and more
than hinting that he was a rank impostor--he and all his cloth. The
seer's snake-like eyes sparkled with vindictive hate, for he was no more
fond of being reviled and insulted than other and commoner mortals.

Another consideration actuating this precious pair was that each was in
a position to give the other away. Both knew that the result of the
rising was but a question of time, and each had an idea that he might
purchase safety at the expense of the other.

A large bowl of _tywala_ was on the ground between them. Suddenly, as
Shiminya stooped to raise this, his confederate whirled up his stick,
intending to bring it down upon the sorcerer's head in such wise that
the Umlimo would be without one of his most valuable myrmidons. But the
move was not quick enough. The blow, instead of shattering skull, came
down on shoulder, with numbing, crushing effect. Lithe as an eel,
Shiminya twisted, and sprang to his feet. At him sprang Nanzicele. The
sorcerer had no weapon to hand. The big Matabele, pressing him hard
against the thorn fence, had him at his mercy.

Not quite. As the second blow descended, something entered Nanzicele's
side, sharp, fiery, scathing. Then Shiminya fell, his limbs squirming
in spasmodic quiver, and from his relaxed grasp there fell a small
knife. This Nanzicele pushed aside with his foot, uttering a
contemptuous grunt.

"_Au_! That does not kill," he growled, surveying his ribs, whence the
blood flowed freely, but from a mere flesh-wound. Then shifting his
knobstick into his left hand, the vengeful savage seized a broad-bladed
assegai, and plunged it into the vitals of his prostrate confederate.

"Yeh-bo!" he cried. "Fare thee well, Shiminya. The Umtwana 'Mlimo can
bleed as well as an ordinary man--can die! _Hlala-gahle Umtwana
'Mlimo_!"

The body of the sorcerer lay motionless. Gazing upon it for a moment,
Nanzicele t