The _Esemkofu_ of Zulu
tradition had been routed in their own haunted home by what they took to
be a spirit.
Poor _Esemkofu!_ they were but miserable and starving bushmen who,
driven into that place of ill omen many years ago, had adopted this
means, the only one open to them, to keep the life in their wretched
bodies. Here at least they were unmolested, and as there was little
other food to be found amid that wilderness of trees, they took what the
river brought them. When executions were few in the Pool of Doom, times
were hard for them indeed--for then they were driven to eat each other.
That is why there were no children.
As their inarticulate outcry died away in the distance, Nanea ran
forward to look at the body that lay on the ground, and staggered back
with a sigh of relief. It was not Nahoon, but she recognised the face
for that of one of the party of executioners. How did he come here? Had
Nahoon killed him? Had Nahoon escaped? She could not tell, and at the
best it was improbable, but still the sight of this dead soldier lit her
heart with a faint ray of hope, for how did he come to be dead if Nahoon
had no hand in his death? She could not bear to leave him lying so near
her hiding-place, however; therefore, with no small toil, she rolled
the corpse back into the water, which carried it swiftly away.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103