It was old, and marked the passage of the great company of women and children and their thousands of cattle which, in execution of the plot, had travelled this path some days before.

Either the _impi_ had not yet arrived, or it had gone by some other road.

Weary as she was, Noma followed the old spoor backwards.

A mile or more away it crossed the crest of a hog-backed mountain, from whose summit she searched the plain beyond, and not in vain, for there far beneath her twinkled the watch-fires of the army of Hafela.
Three hours later a woman, footsore and utterly exhausted, staggered into the camp, and waving aside the spears that were lifted to stab her, demanded to be led to the prince.

Presently she was there.
"Who is this woman ?" asked the great warrior; for, haggard as she was with travel, exhaustion, and the terror of her haunted loneliness, he did not know her in the uncertain firelight.
"Hafela," she said, "I am Noma who was the wife of Hokosa, and for whole nights and days I have journeyed as no woman ever journeyed before, to tell you of the treachery of Hokosa and to save you from your doom." "What treachery and what doom ?" asked the prince.
"Before I answer you that question, Hafela, you must pay me the price of my news." "Let me hear the price, Noma." "It is this, Prince: First, the head of Hokosa, who has divorced me, when you have caught him." "That I promise readily.