the Ghoda, well and good--you will go home to your wife. If
not, you will return and sleep here. The kid will be roasted, and you
shall hear the story. Do you agree?"

"Certainly I do."

"Just one thing:--remember that you are to ride past. It is possible,
although I think it unlikely, that you might reach the drift if you
blind-folded the horse and led him."

"I quite understand. Good-bye."

"I will not say 'Good-bye.' You will return and hear the story."

As I rode away laughing, I heard Numjala calling out to his son
Tantiso, telling him to catch a certain kid, kill it, and prepare it
for immediate roasting. My course led down the hillside, and then along
the level bottom of the valley on the left-hand side of which is the
Ghoda Bush. The stream was on my right, and the pathway on which I was
riding ran parallel with it, distant about twenty yards.

As I drew near the Ghoda I felt somewhat creepy. My horse was a steady
old stager, not at all given to shying. He went along at a quick amble,
and as I neared the fateful spot, I freshened up my courage with the
thought that in a few moments I would have crossed the drift, and then
the Ghoda and its ghost would be well behind me. My horse was stepping
out briskly and without showing the least sign of suspicion, when all
at once he gave a loud snort and wheeled sharply to the right,
completely unseating me, However, I did not fall off, as I managed to
clutch hold of his mane. As I swung back into the saddle, I saw that we
had narrowly escaped falling down the sleep bank into the stream.

To save my self-respect, I made another attempt to pass, but more or
less the same thing happened, except that I kept my seat, and managed
to avoid going so near the bank, I then left the horse to himself, and
he ambled back to Numjala's kraal. When I dismounted he was wet with
perspiration, and trembling violently. I will not say how I felt, but
my sensations were not comfortable.

Numjala evinced no surprise, nor did he attempt to triumph over me in
any way. Neither did he (then, or ever) ask me what had happened. He
took my return, quite as a matter of course.

We sat down to supper. The kid was excellent, and the foaming koumis
from the big calabash equal to champagne. After supper I spread my rug
at one side of the fireplace--Numjala unrolled his mat at the other. We
lay down and smoked our pipes in silence for some time, and then
Numjala told me the following story.

II.