a were-wolf; nay even to lean your head against anything against which a were-wolf has leaned his head suffices to do it.  The penalty for being a were-wolf is death; but the sentence is never passed until the accused has had a fair trial and his guilt has been clearly demonstrated by an ordeal, which consists in dipping the middle finger into boiling resin.  If the finger is not burnt, the man is no were-wolf; but if it is burnt, a werewolf he most assuredly is, so they take him away to a quiet spot and hack him to bits.  In cutting him up the executioners are naturally very careful not to be bespattered with his blood, for if that were to happen they would of course be turned into were-wolves themselves.  Further, they place his severed head beside his hinder-quarters to prevent his soul from coming to life again and pursuing his depredations.  So great is the horror of were-wolves among the Toradjas, and so great is their fear of contracting the deadly taint by infection, that many persons have assured a missionary that they would not spare their own child if they knew him to be a were-wolf.[763] Now these people, whose faith in were-wolves is not a mere dying or dead superstition but a living, dreadful conviction, tell stories of were-wolves which conform to the type which we are examining.  They say that once upon a time a were-wolf came in human shape under the house of a neighbour, while his real body lay asleep as usual at home, and calling out softly to the man’s wife made an assignation with her to meet him in the tobacco-field next day.  But the husband was lying awake and he heard it all, but he said nothing to anybody.  Next day chanced to be a busy one in the village, for a roof had to be put on a new house and all the men were lending a hand with the work, and among them to be sure was the were-wolf himself, I mean to say his own human self; there he was up on the roof working away as hard as anybody.  But the woman went out to the tobacco-field, and behind went unseen her husband, slinking through the underwood.  When they were come to the field, he saw the were-wolf make up to his wife, so out he rushed and struck at him with a stick.  Quick as thought, the were-wolf turned himself into a leaf, but the man was as nimble, for he caught up the leaf, thrust it into the joint of bamboo, in which he kept his tobacco, and bunged it up tight.  Then he walked back with his wife to the village, carrying the bamboo with the werewolf in it.  When they came to the village, the human body of the were-wolf was still on the roof, working away with the rest.  The man put the bamboo in a fire.  At that the human were-wolf looked down from the roof and said, “Don’t do that.”  The man drew the bamboo from the fire, but a moment afterwards he put it in the fire again, and again the human were-wolf on the roof looked down and cried, “Don’t do that.”  But this time the man kept the bamboo in the fire, and when it blazed up, down fell the human were-wolf from the roof as dead as a stone.[764]