So he refused.
Sekhome now made his last and most fearful attack. He was a
witch-doctor and master of the witch-doctors whose ghoulish
incantations made the Bamangwato tremble in terror of unseen devils.
One night the persecuted Khama woke at the sound of strange clashing
and chanting. Looking out he saw the fitful flame of a fire. Going out
from his hut, he saw the _lolwapa_ or court in front of it lit up
with weird flames round which the black wizards danced with horns and
lions' teeth clashing about their necks, and with manes of beasts'
hair waving above their horrible faces. As they danced they cast
charms into the fire and chanted loathsome spells and terrible curses
on Khama. As a boy he had been taught that these witch-doctors had the
power to slay or to smite with foul diseases. He would have been more
than human if he had not felt a shiver of nameless dread at this lurid
and horrible dance of death.
Yet he never hesitated. He strode forward swiftly, anger and contempt
on his face, scattering the witch-doctors from his path and leaping
full upon their fire of charms, stamped it out and scattered its
embers broadcast. The wizards fled into the darkness of the night.
_The Fight with the Kaffir Beer_
At last Khama's treacherous old father, Sekhome, died.
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