"'It is so.'

"'You are the daughter of Nala and the wife of Wambe?'

"'It is so.'

"'You fly from Wambe to Nala?'

"'I do.'

"'Why do you fly? Stay, I would give an order,'--and calling to Gobo, I
ordered him to get the men ready for instant departure. The woman, who,
as I have said, was quite young and very handsome, put her hand into
a little pouch made of antelope hide which she wore fastened round the
waist, and to my horror drew from it the withered hand of a child, which
evidently had been carefully dried in the smoke.

"'I fly for this cause,' she answered, holding the poor little hand
towards me. 'See now, I bore a child. Wambe was its father, and for
eighteen months the child lived and I loved it. But Wambe loves not his
children; he kills them all. He fears lest they should grow up to slay
one so wicked, and he would have killed this child also, but I begged
its life. One day, some soldiers passing the hut saw the child and
saluted him, calling him the "chief who soon shall be." Wambe heard,
and was mad. He smote the babe, and it wept. Then he said that it should
weep for good cause. Among the things that he had stolen from the white
men whom he slew is a trap that will hold lions. So strong is the trap
that four men must stand on it, two on either side, before it can be
opened.'"