“Au!” exclaimed Kazimbi sullenly, and throwing off all disguise. “Pay us our wage, and let us depart.”
“If you depart it will be without your wage, which you will have forfeited by breaking your agreement and the agreement of your chiefs,” said Dawes. “Are you prepared to face your chiefs with such a story? Are you willing to throw away the wage of all this service?”
But the malcontents were past reason. The turbulent murmurs grew in volume.
“We must go!” they cried. “Wage or no wage we will go. We do not want to be killed by the Igazipuza.”
“Well, I say you shall not go,” said Dawes, rising to his feet.
“Hau!” burst from the group. “Hau! we are going now.” And an insolent laugh went up.
“Stand! The first who moves is a dead man.”
The defiant laugh died in their throats. They gazed in direst consternation at the revolver presented full at them, at the resolute grey eyes behind it—at the two revolvers, for Gerard, quick to grasp the situation had covered them with his. The complete turning of the tables was ludicrous.
“We hold twelve lives here,” said Dawes, “and you are but six. The first man who moves will be shot dead, and once we begin shooting, in half a minute there will not be one of you left standing. Now you, Kazimbi, walk six paces away from the rest. Only six.”
Grey with apprehension, the Swazi obeyed. No sooner had he gained the requisite distance than he was seized from behind by Sintoba and Fulani, and securely bound with reims. The others standing huddled together like sheep, still covered by the deadly six-shooters, whose dread capacities they knew only too well, were round-eyed with fear. And behind them they caught a glimpse of the two leaders, each armed with a broad-bladed stabbing assegai, which had come forth from some cunning place of concealment.