But, though cruel and bloodthirsty, he was of unimpeachable courage, and more than one tale of heroic valour did k.u.mbelwa narrate in which the young King was the central figure.

At times, when they were taking their walks abroad, a sudden hubbub, and a roaring crowd on the move, would denote that his Majesty was out, and his faithful subjects were hailing his progress. But they deemed it expedient to keep out of the way of such demonstrations.

"Hallo!" cried Haviland, one hot morning, as they were lying in their hut. "Here, quick, give us that box! Why, that's the most whacking big scorpion I've ever seen, even here."

In a trice the great crawling venomous brute was, like themselves, a prisoner, savagely walking round and round, and wondering what had happened.

"It'll be a job to get him into the lethal jar, Oakley! If we use the tongs on him we're sure to damage his legs, like we did that mammoth tarantula that was taking a stroll over you the other night. Here, hold the box a minute."

So for upwards of a quarter of an hour, these two enthusiastic collectors were busily at work circ.u.mventing the ugly venomous insect.

They had forgotten their troubles; the Inswani, the king, Mushad, everything.

"Well done!" cried Haviland. "We've got him at last. What a specimen!

Poor old Ahern, how he would have enjoyed this! If only he hadn't been in such a hurry--. Get out of the way, k.u.mbelwa. You're in our light,"

he added, without looking up, as a shadow darkened the door. With a smothered grunt this was removed. Then, when at last they did look up, the figure squatted on the ground was not that of k.u.mbelwa at all. It was Dumaliso.

They exchanged greetings, not very cordially on either side. They were not particularly fond of the chief, whom Oakley defined as "a cruel brute, who'd cut our throats as soon as look at us, if he dared."

Moreover, they were vexed that he should appear on the scene when he did, for they had received more than one hint from k.u.mbelwa that the Inswani looked with considerable suspicion on their collecting propensities. None but _abatagati_, or evilly disposed sorcerers, went about collecting insects and plants, it was argued--of course to work witchcraft with--and they had deemed it wise to refrain. Their position was quite risky enough without doing anything to add to its complications, and now here was one of the most influential men in the nation--and toward themselves the most hostile--entering just in time to find them capturing one of the ugliest and most vicious specimens of the insect world. What could they want with such save for purposes of witchcraft?

"The King, the Great Great One, has a word unto ye two," began Dumaliso.

They nodded a.s.sent.

"With the firearms we have taken from the slave-hunting dogs many of the King's warriors might be armed. His 'word' is that ye shall teach them to shoot, beginning with myself."

"What do you think of the idea, Oakley?" said Haviland, when he had translated this to his companion, who was himself picking up a moderate knowledge of the tongue.

"Seems reasonable. You see, it isn't like arming them against our own countrymen, because they'll never see any of them, and to arm them against the slave-hunters is all right. We'd better agree."

"I think so too." Whereupon, turning to the chief, they expressed their willingness to organise a corps of sharpshooters among the more promising of the Inswani.

"That is well," said Dumaliso, rising. "And now, O strangers, if you would see the end of this dog Mushad, the time is at hand."

"Tell him we don't want to see it, Haviland. Brute as Mushad is, I don't want to see him tortured. It makes me sick."

Haviland at first made no reply. He seemed to be thinking.

"We will go, Oakley," he said at last. "I have got an idea or saving the poor brute from torture, at any rate."

As they went forth with Dumaliso, a strange subdued roar was arising, and from every part of the town people were hurrying towards the great s.p.a.ce at the head of which stood the King's throne. In thousands and thousands the densely packed ma.s.s of surging humanity blocked the way, and it required all Dumaliso's authority to clear a pa.s.sage. A new spectacle seemed to be antic.i.p.ated, and the pitiless crowd thrilled with delight as it speculated by what particular form of torment their traditional enemy was to die. It was horrible, and there, thickly studding the outer stockade, were numerous fresh heads, grinning in anguished distortion, being those of the slave-hunters, who had been put to death in batches. And now their leader, the famous and terrible Mushad, was the last.

There was the usual roaring outburst of _sibonga_ as the King appeared and took his seat. There were the executioners, savage-looking and eager, and then--the last of the slave captives was dragged forward.

Heavens! what was this? The bowed and shrunken figure, palsied and shaking, was that of an old, old man. The snow-white hair and ragged beard, the trembling claws and the blinking watery eyes--this could never be Mushad, the keen-eyed, haughty, indomitable Arab of middle age and iron sinewy frame, whom they had last seen, here on this very spot, hurling defiance at his captors in general and at the King in particular. No--no, such a transformation was not possible.

But it was. Ill-treatment, starvation, torture had reduced the once haughty, keen-spirited Arab to this. Where he had defied, now he cringed. Yet no spark of ruth or pity did his miserable plight call forth in those who now beheld him. Brutal jeers were hurled at him.

They had come to see him die in torments. They had looked forward to it from day to day. They were not to be baulked now.

Of all this Haviland was aware, and an intense pity arose in his heart as he gazed upon the miserable wreck. He had thought he knew what savages really were, but now realised that it was reserved for the Inswani to teach him.

"Ho! Mushad, my dog!" jeered the King, in his deep voice. "Thou who namedst thyself the scourge of the world. Why, I think the meanest slave thou hast ever sold would crack his whip over thee now."

"Look yonder," went on Umnovunovu. "Thou seest those four poles? Good.

Thou wilt be tied to those by an ankle and wrist to each, half a man's height from the ground, with fire beneath thee, and for a whole day thou shalt rest upon a warm blanket, I promise thee."

The two Englishmen shuddered with horror as they saw what was to happen.

The miserable slave-hunter was to be slowly roasted to death. Then Haviland spoke, as he admitted to himself, like a fool.

"Spare him, Great, Great One. Spare him the torture. See, he has undergone enough. Put him to the swift death of the sword."

The King's face was terrible to behold as he turned it upon the interruptor; no less terrible as they beheld it was the roar of rage that went up from the spectators.

"Wilt thou take his place upon yon glowing bed, thou fool white man?" he said with a sneer that was more than half a menacing snarl.

"Haviland, go easy, man," warned Oakley. "This won't do at all. Why should we sacrifice ourselves for that infernal villain? Haviland, you're an a.s.s."

The sneer had gone out of the King's face. For a moment he contemplated the two white men in silence.

"What were his words?" he said, pointing to Oakley. Haviland told him.

"Not so," said Umnovunovu, with an impatient stamp of the foot. "Let him say the words exactly as he said them. Or--" The last was rolled out in a roar of menace.

Oakley, greatly wondering, repeated his words. The King, still wondering, pointed with his spear at Mushad. In a moment the executioners were upon him, and he was dragged to the place of his torment and death.

But to make him fast to the poles it was necessary to cut the thongs which bound his wrists. Mushad, apparently more helpless than a new-born babe, saw his opportunity and characteristically seized it.

From one of the executioners he s.n.a.t.c.hed a heavy two-edged dagger, and with all the old determination reviving, in a twinkling he drove it home--hard, strong, and straight--cleaving his own heart.

It took the spectators some moments to realise that they were cheated of the glut of revenge for which they were there. Then went up the most awful ravening roar. The two white men! They had bewitched the Arab!

They it was who had saved him from their vengeance! Let them take the slaver's place!

For a few minutes the King listened to their frenzied bellowing. Then, slowly, he raised his spear and pointed at Haviland.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A NEW WONDER.

At the fatal signal the executioners threw themselves upon Haviland, so quickly that it became evident that no opportunity would be allowed him of repeating Mushad's device. His revolver and knife were taken from him, and, firmly held in the iron grasp of these muscular savages, he was forced to stand powerless, awaiting the will of the King. No chance, either, had Oakley of coming to his aid, separated as they were by an infuriated and armed crowd.

"First of all," said the King, "those who allowed the Arab to escape must go. I have no use for such."

Two of the executioners were immediately seized by the rest. No prayer for mercy escaped them; perhaps they knew the futility of it. The King made a sign. Both knelt down; there was a flash of two scimitars in the air, and in a second two spouting, headless trunks were deluging the earth. An awed silence rested momentarily upon the mult.i.tude; then broke forth into hideous clamour for the torture of the white wizards.

For such these were, they declared. All the insects and herbs they were collecting--what was all this for but for purposes of witchcraft? Only that morning they had captured a huge scorpion, and had been found distilling evil _muti_ from its venomous carcase. With this they had enabled their enemy to escape them. With this they had even bewitched the Great Great One himself. Death to the wizards! Let them take the Arab's place!

Haviland's shirt was rent from his back, revealing a curious jagged scar, running from the left shoulder halfway to the elbow.

"Hold!" roared the King.