acteristics of the Black Kendah from whom we had escaped, to such an
extent indeed that this blood was clearly predominant in them. Still,
it was also clear that they were deadly foes of this people, for when
I shouted out to them that we were the friends of Harut and those who
worshipped the Child, they yelled back that we were liars. No friends
of the Child, they said, came from the country of the Black Kendah, who
worshipped the devil Jana. I tried to explain that least of all men in
the world did we worship Jana, who had been hunting us for hours, but
they would not listen.

"You are spies of Simba's, the smell of Jana is upon you" (this may have
been true enough), they yelled, adding: "We will kill you, white-faced
goat. We will kill you, little yellow monkey, for none who are not
enemies come here from the land of the Black Kendah."

"Kill us then," I answered, "and bring the curse of the Child upon you.
Bring famine, bring hail, bring war!"

These words were, I think, well chosen; at any rate they induced a pause
in their murderous intentions. For a while they hesitated, all talking
together at once. At last the advocates of violence appeared to get the
upper hand, and once more a number of the men began to dance about us,
waving their spears and crying out that we must die who came from the
Black Kendah.

I sat down upon the ground, for I was so exhausted that at the time I
did not greatly care whether I died or lived, while Hans drew his
knife and stood over me, cursing them as he had cursed at Jana. By slow
degrees they drew nearer and nearer. I watched them with a kind of
idle curiosity, believing that the moment when they came within actual
spear-thrust would be our last, but, as I have said, not greatly caring
because of my mental and physical exhaustion.

I had already closed my eyes that I might not see the flash of the
falling steel, when an exclamation from Hans caused me to open them
again. Following the line of the knife with which he pointed, I
perceived a troop of men on camels emerging from the gates of the
village at full speed. In front of these, his white garments fluttering
on the wind, rode a bearded and dignified person in whom I recognized
Harut, Harut himself, waving a spear and shouting as he came. Our
assailants heard and saw him also, then flung down their weapons as
though in dismay either at his appearance or his words, which I could
not catch. Harut guided his rushing camel strai