to point with the assegai towards his rival. For a while I looked at him
in silence. He was a curious wizened man, apparently over fifty years
of age, with thin hands that looked as tough as wire. His nose was much
sharper than is usual among these races, and he had a queer habit of
holding his head sideways like a bird when he spoke, which, in
addition to the humour that lurked in his eye, gave him a most comical
appearance. Another strange thing about him was that he had a single
white lock of hair among his black wool. At last I spoke to him:

"Indaba-zimbi, my friend," I said, "you may be a good witch-doctor, but
you are certainly a fool. It is no good beckoning at the blue sky while
your enemy is getting a start with the storm."

"You may be clever, but don't think you know everything, white man," the
old fellow answered, in a high, cracked voice, and with something like a
grin.

"They call you Iron-tongue," I went on; "you had better use it, or the
Storm Devil won't hear you."

"The fire from above runs down iron," he answered, "so I keep my tongue
quiet. Oh, yes, let him curse away, I'll put him out presently. Look
now, white man."

I looked, and in the eastern sky there grew a cloud. At first it was
small, though very black, but it gathered with extraordinary rapidity.

This was odd enough, but as I had seen the same thing happen before it
did not particularly astonish me. It is by no means unusual in Africa
for two thunderstorms to come up at the same time from different points