Khamane then spoke to them and said, "Why should Khama rule you?
Remember he forbids you to make and to drink beer. He has done away
with the dances of the young men. He will not let you make charms or
throw enchanted dice or make incantations for rain. He is a Christian.
If I ruled you, you should do all these things."
When Khama rode back again into his town he saw men and women lying
drunk under the eaves of their huts and others reeling along the road.
At night the sounds of chants and drinking dances rose on the air.
His anger was terrible. For once he lost his temper. He seized a
burning torch and running to the hut of Khamane set fire to the roof
and burned the house down over his drunken brother's head. He ordered
all the beer that had been brewed to be seized, and poured it out
upon the veldt. He knew that he was fighting a fiercer enemy than
the Matabele, a foe that would throttle his tribe and destroy all his
people if he did not conquer it. The old men of the tribe muttered
against him and plotted his death. He met them face to face. His eyes
flashed.
"When I was still a lad," he said, "I used to think how I would
govern my town and what kind of a kingdom it should be. One thing I
determined, I would not rule over a drunken town or people.
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