the Zambas. They took
me first--by treachery. Then they wiped out the entire tribe. The poor
devils were lost without me. I always knew they would be--but they made
a gallant fight for it." A thrill of feeling crept into the monotonous
voice, a tinge of the old abounding pride, but it was gone on the
instant, as if it had not been. "They slaughtered them all in the end,"
came in level, dispassionate tones, "and, last of all, they killed me.
It was a slow process, but very complete. I needn't harrow your
feelings. Only be quite sure I am dead! The thing that used to be my
body was turned into an abomination that no sane creature could look
upon without a shudder. And as for my soul, devils took possession, so
that even the Wandis were afraid. They dare not touch me now. I have
trampled them, I have tortured them, I have killed them. They fly from
me like sheep. Yet, if I lead, they follow. They think, because I have
conquered them, that I am invincible, invulnerable, immortal. They
cringe before me as if I were a god. They would offer me human sacrifice
if I would have it. I am their talisman, their mascot, their safeguard
from defeat, their luck--a dead man, Herne, a dead man! Can't you see
the joke? Why don't you laugh?"

Again the grim voice thrilled as if some fiendish mirth stirred it to
life.

Herne moved and groaned, but spoke no word.

"What? You don't see it? You never had much sense of humour. And yet
it's a good thing to laugh when you can. We savages don't know how to
laugh. We only yell. That is all you wanted to know, is it? You will go
back now with an easy mind?"

"As if that could be all!" Herne muttered.

"That is all. And count yourself lucky that I haven't killed you. It was
touch and go that night you attacked me. You may die yet."

"I may. But it won't be your fault if I do. Great Heaven, I might have
killed you!"

"So you might." Again came that quiver of dreadful laughter. "That would
have been the end of the story for everyone, for you wouldn't have got
away without me. But that was no part of the program. Even you couldn't
kill a dead man. Feel that, if you don't believe me!" Suddenly one of
the shrivelled, mummy hands came down to his own. "How much life is
there in that?"

Herne gripped the hand. It was cold and clammy; he could feel every
separate bone under the skin. He could almost hear them grind together
in his hold. He repressed another shudder; and even as he did it, he
hear