thanks."

"The Chief of our country."

"The lion, the great elephant, the Chief."

The head messenger was about to go too, but the Commissioner stopped him.

"Mokorongo, you will have to go out and arrest Chiromo."

"To-morrow?"

"To-night."

"His village is far and the sun is setting."

"You will get there before morning and will bring Chiromo back with you."

"How many go with me?"

"You go alone."

The messenger was very much afraid. He licked his lips, which had become dry, he shuffled with his feet, his gaze wandered from ceiling to floor and round the hall in which the Commissioner sat.

"Mokorongo."

"Morena."

"You are afraid."

"I am afraid, Morena."

"Very much afraid."

"Morena."

"Why?"

"Is not Chiromo a doctor?"

"What of that?"

"I am but a man, your servant."

"Yes, my servant. Why, then, are you afraid?"

"Morena."

Again the wretched man's eyes looked in any direction but in that of his master.

"Mokorongo."

"Morena."

"Are you ready to start? It is getting late."

"Yes, it is late, for the sun sets."

"Are you ready?"

Mokorongo made no reply: he was now quite frightened. In the ordinary way this simple native was full of courage, he would follow his master anywhere; they had been in a tight corner together more than once and he had shown up splendidly. But then his master, in whom he had implicit faith, had been there. To go alone to arrest a witch doctor was quite another matter. Had not the doctor killed the boy in a strange way? No, it was too much to ask a man to do alone, and at night.

The Commissioner walked to his writing table and took from it a heavy paperweight, which he handed to Mokorongo.

"Take this with you, it will protect you against Chiromo, for it is mine."

The messenger was satisfied; he put the weight inside his tunic and turned to go.

"Stop," said the Commissioner, "what are your plans?"

Mokorongo had a quick mind: he unfolded his plan without hesitation.

"I will talk awhile with the stranger, who will tell me of Chiromo; whether he has a beard or has no beard; whether he is very old or not so old; if he is fat or thin; what his loin cloth is like, or if he wears a skin."

"Good, and then?"

"I will travel to the village, which I shall reach before morning. In the bush I will hide my uniform. Near the village I will lie in wait. In the morning Chiromo will come out of his hut. All day I will watch and when the people have eaten and sleep I will arrest Chiromo."

"How?"

"I will go to his hut and call to him, saying that I am a traveller from Sijoba on my way to Katora. That the sun has set and I ask for shelter. I shall tell him that I have some meat of a buck which I found dead near the path. Then Chiromo will open the door of his hut and I shall tie him. And he will come with me because of my uniform and the people will not hinder me because of my uniform."

"Good, take the handcuffs. But there is one thing you have forgotten. You must bring in a basket all Chiromo's medicine."

"I will bring the medicine," replied the messenger, clutching at the paperweight which bulged under his tunic.

"Go safely," said the master.

"Rest in peace," replied the man.

The Commissioner watched the retreating figure. The swinging stride showed self-confidence and courage. Mokorongo would do successfully what was required of him.

II.

The dawn was breaking. It had rained all night and the ground was very wet. When the first rain falls the earth is slow in absorbing it. Little puddles form everywhere and little streams, increasing in volume as they join others, make small lakes or rushing torrents, according to the lie of the land.

Mokorongo was not comfortable. He had travelled far in the night and had stumbled many times in the darkness. Moreover, he was drenched to the skin and very cold. The paperweight consoled him, as it had kept up his courage throughout his long journey. He remembered now the cry of a hyena close to the path at midnight, which had sent his hand clutching at the paperweight. Then some large, dark object stirred beside him and bounded away, crashing through the bush. Mokorongo's heart had thumped in time to the heavy hoof-beats.

However, the dawn had come and his talisman had proved itself a sure shield and protection.

The messenger took off his sodden tunic and drew it over his shoulders as a cloak against the wind which always heralds the coming day. He replaced the paperweight inside his shirt, and buckling on his belt again sat down on his heels to watch the village.

Presently smoke arose from the yard of one of the huts, then from another. A man came out of a low doorway, stretched and yawned. A dog barked, the cattle began to low and fowls to cluck—the day had come.

He had chosen his observation post well. In front of him lay the village in a hollow. Behind him, a patch of thick bush. To his left ran the path to the cultivated lands and to the next village. On his right was a stretch of rough country, good only for baboons and other beasts: it was unlikely that he would be disturbed from that or any other quarter.

The village soon showed signs of full life. When the sun came out Mokorongo stripped and spread out his tunic, shirt and loin cloth to dry, placing the paperweight and handcuffs on a little tuft of short grass which was comparatively dry.

As the sun crept up the sky, Mokorongo's back was warmed and he felt more comfortable. He watched the coming and going of men, women and children until midday. He had easily recognised Chiromo. The father of the dead boy had described the witch doctor minutely, but even without that description he would have picked him out. He was fat and looked prosperous; some half-dozen inflated gall bladders of small mammals were tied to tufts of his hair. He wore chillies in the lobes of his ears, a sure sign that he had killed a lion—or a man.

His hut, too, was larger than the rest and stood slightly apart. Yes, this surely was Chiromo; did he not wear, suspended from a string round his waist, the skin of a black tsipa cat? And had not the case-bearer of yesterday said: "Chiromo has the skin of a black tsipa?"

Yes, Mokorongo was sure of his man, and as the sun was now hot he gathered together his belongings and carried them into the shade of the thicket, where he settled himself for a sleep.

At sunset he awoke. He felt hungry and thirsty, but as there were no means of satisfying either he turned his mind to the work immediately ahead.

He crept back to his original post. The cattle were being kraaled; the goats were already settled for the night; women were preparing the evening meal.

Mokorongo slipped on his tunic shirt and loin cloth and buckled his belt. He put on his fez and tucked the paperweight inside his tunic. He then made sure that the handcuffs snapped as they should and that no amount of tugging would open them; having reset them he put the key in the small pouch attached to his belt.

There is little twilight in Africa. Soon after the sun sets it is dark. He could see Chiromo's fire and, in the glow of it, Chiromo sitting on a low stool.

Presently the night sounds began. Someone was beating a drum at a distant village. A jackal barked far down the valley. Something rustled in a bush near by. The frogs set up their shrill chorus. A dog in the village began to howl, but stopped with a yelp as some woman threw a stick at it.

After a while the fires burnt down; there was silence, and Mokorongo judged that the time for action had