The guards came to drive the last survivors to the dreadful spot at the head of the valley, but Noquala seized his sticks and rushed at them so fiercely that they fled from before his face. Then Noquala mounted guard over the last dying remnants of his matchless herd, and none dared further to disturb their agonies.

The sun went down and the pitiless stars gazed impa.s.sively on the valley of the shadow of death. Noquala remained at his post. Every now and then would he pa.s.s from one to the other of the suffering creatures, endeavouring distractedly to comfort them with words. The night was bitterly cold; a white frost thickly covered the gra.s.s and struck to the marrow of the tortured limbs. At the sharp pinch which came just before dawn, tardy Death finished his work. One by one, within a few fatal minutes, the remainder of Noquala's cattle expired. The dun-coloured bull was the last to die. He lingered until a pallid flicker filled the east. Then he started as if about to rise. For an instant it seemed as though he would succeed, for he lifted his gaunt trunk upon his front legs, and swept a dazed and startled gaze from one to the other of the carcases of his dead companions which lay around him. But he could get no farther; his hind quarters were paralysed. He remained thus for a few seconds, then, with a roar that seemed to shake the hills, he sank back and died.

Noquala was found at daybreak sitting on the ground close to the carcase of the bull. His head lay forward upon his bent knees; his grey hair was whitened by the frost. He was so stiff from the cold that he was unable to move, so had to be carried back to his hut, where they covered him with blankets and gave him a draught of hot broth, which he drank mechanically. It was long before he regained normal warmth.

When next Noquala emerged from the hut into the sunlight he was a cripple. His lower limbs had become cramped and contracted, and it was found impossible to straighten them. His memory was asleep, and it is not likely that it will ever waken. One day, as he sat in the sunshine, a little boy came up and began to play with some clay oxen, close to him. A bright smile at once lit up Noquala's face; he stretched forth his hand, seized a couple of the images, and began to fondle them.

He is, apparently, quite happy. Makalipa tends him devotedly, and helps him to hobble back to the hearth when the sun goes down or a cold wind springs up, first a.s.sisting him to gather up the clay oxen and place them carefully in a fold of his blanket. She has not the least objection to digging up her h.o.a.rds, as occasions arise, and spending the money freely upon her husband's comfort. Elijah is still at the seminary, and has not yet heard of what has happened at his home.

The children of the neighbourhood take a pleasure in making clay oxen for the one-time proud, masterful, and wealthy man who has become their playmate and companion; they even make expeditions to distant valleys for the purpose of obtaining various-hued ochres and earths, so as to manufacture cattle of different colours. Noquala has now quite a large number of these toys. His only trouble is when one breaks by accident, but as they are strongly made and afterwards baked in an old ant-heap which does duty for a kiln, this does not very often occur. He seldom speaks, except when he sees a stranger approaching. Then he says, in a high, thin voice, quite different to his former gruff, deep-chested tones--

"Have you seen 'Ndakana?... He is a great doctor... He went to the bush for roots... I wonder why he does not come."

The End.