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.