The natives had given up witchcraft and big medicine, they said, and were more afraid of a parson or a policeman than any witch-doctor.

Then they were starting on reminiscences, when old Coetzee, who was deaf, broke in and asked to have my question repeated.
'Yes,' he said, 'I know.

It is in the Rooirand.

There is a devil dwells there.' I could get no more out of him beyond the fact that there was certainly a great devil there.

His grandfather and father had seen it, and he himself had heard it roaring when he had gone there as a boy to hunt.
He would explain no further, and went to bed.
Next morning, close to Sikitola's kraal, I bade the farmers good-bye, after telling them that there would be a store in my wagon for three weeks at Umvelos' if they wanted supplies.