of us started boldly from
our house wearing over our clothes the Kendah dresses which Ragnall had
bought, and carrying nothing save sticks in our hands, some food and
the lantern in our pockets. On the outskirts of the town we were met by
certain Kendah, one of whom I knew, for I had often ridden by his side
on our march across the desert.

"Have any of you arms upon you, Lord Macumazana?" he asked, looking
curiously at us and our white robes.

"None," I answered. "Search us if you will."

"Your word is sufficient," he replied with the grave courtesy of his
people. "If you are unarmed we have orders to let you go where you wish
however you may be dressed. Yet, Lord," he whispered to me, "I pray you
do not enter the cave, since One lives there who strikes and does not
miss, One whose kiss is death. I pray it for your own sakes, also for
ours who need you."

"We shall not wake him who sleeps in the cave," I answered
enigmatically, as we departed rejoicing, for now we had learned that the
Kendah did not yet know of the death of the serpent.

An hour's walk up the hill, guided by Hans, brought us to the mouth of
the tunnel. To tell the truth I could have wished it had been longer,
for as we drew near all sorts of doubts assailed me. What if Hans really
had been drinking and invented this story to account for his absence?
What if the snake had recovered from a merely temporary indisposition?
What if it had a wife and family living in that cave, every one of them
thirsting for vengeance?

Well, it was too late to hesitate now, but secretly I hoped that one
of the others would prefer to lead the way. We reached the place and
listened. It was silent as a tomb. Then that brave fellow Hans lit the
lantern and said:

"Do you stop here, Baases, while I go to look. If you hear anything
happen to me, you will have time to run away," words that made me feel
somewhat ashamed of myself.

However, knowing that he was quick as a weasel and silent as a cat,
we let him go. A minute or two later suddenly he reappeared out of the
darkness, for he had turned the metal shield over the bull's-eye of the
lantern, and even in that light I could see that he was grinning.

"It is all right, Baas," he said. "The Father of Serpents has really
gone to that land whither he sent Bena, where no doubt he is now
roasting in the fires of hell, and I don't see any others. Come and look
at him."

So in we went and there, true enough, upon the floo