He sank down upon the tanned ox-hide, and lay there dying.

Once more he spoke, and once only, saying: "Would now that I had hearkened to the voice of Nobela, who warned me against thee, thou dog!" Then he was silent for ever.

But I knelt over him and called in his ear the names of all those of my blood who had died at his hands--the names of Makedama, my father, of my mother, of Anadi my wife, of Moosa my son, and all my other wives and children, and of Baleka my sister.

His eyes and ears were open, and I think, my father, that he saw and understood; I think also that the hate upon my face as I shook my withered hand before him was more fearful to him that the pain of death.

At the least, he turned his head aside, shut his eyes, and groaned.