slays whom he will. But none other may slay us,
Ugh-lomi, none other may slay us."

Still Ugh-lomi did not understand.

"Our Lord is a Lion. He speaks no more to men."

Ugh-lomi stood regarding them. He had had dreams--he knew that though he
had killed Uya, Uya still existed. And now they told him Uya was a Lion.

The shrivelled old woman, the mistress of the fire-minders, suddenly
turned and spoke softly to those next to her. She was a very old woman
indeed, she had been the first of Uya's wives, and he had let her live
beyond the age to which it is seemly a woman should be permitted to
live. She had been cunning from the first, cunning to please Uya and to
get food. And now she was great in counsel. She spoke softly, and
Ugh-lomi watched her shrivelled form across the river with a curious
distaste. Then she called aloud, "Come over to us, Ugh-lomi."

A girl suddenly lifted up her voice. "Come over to us, Ugh-lomi," she
said. And they all began crying, "Come over to us, Ugh-lomi."

It was strange how their manner changed after the old woman called.

He stood quite still watching them all. It was pleasant to be called,
and the girl who had called first was a pretty one. But she made him
think of Eudena.

"Come over to us, Ugh-lomi," they cried, and the voice of the shrivelled
old woman rose above them all. At the sound of her voice his hesitation
returned.

He stood on the river bank, Ugh-lomi--Ugh the Thinker--with his thoughts
slowly taking shape. Presently one and then another paused to see what
he would do. He was minded to go back, he was minded not to. Suddenly
his fear or his caution got the upper hand. Without answering them he
turned, and walked back towards the distant thorn-trees, the way he had
come. Forthwith the whole tribe started crying to him again very
eagerly. He hesitated and turned, then he went on, then he turned again,
and then once again, regarding them with troubled eyes as they called.
The last time he took two paces back, before his fear stopped him. They
saw him stop once more, and suddenly shake his head and vanish among
the hawthorn-trees.

Then all the women and children lifted up their voices together, and
called to him in one last vain effort.

Far down the river the reeds were stirring in the breeze, where,
convenient for his new sort of feeding, the old lion, who had taken to
man-eating, had made his lair.

The old woman turned her face that way, and pointed to the hawtho