The prisoner stood with chest expanded—erect—facing the witch-doctress. There was a flash of light through the air, and the spear descended. No writhing body, gushing with blood, sank to the earth. The prisoner stood, erect and smiling.
“Hau!” cried the warriors. “The ‘charm’ is too strong. The white man is unhurt—Mawo!”
Ngcenika could be seen examining the point of her assegai in scowling concern. It was completely flattened and turned.
It must not be supposed that Eustace was so simple as to imagine that the sorceress would strike at the spot where she knew the impediment was concealed—over his heart, to wit. That cunning she-devil, as he well knew, would aim just to the right of this, and would reckon infallibly upon transfixing him. Accordingly, while watching the stroke, with incredible quickness and dexterity he timed himself to swerve slightly in that direction thus actually catching the point of the weapon upon the silver box. Again had the love of Eanswyth stepped between himself and death.
“Where is the man who owns this spear?” cried the witch-doctress, suddenly.
With much inward trepidation a warrior stepped forward.
“Thy weapon is bewitched!” cried the hag, in a terrible voice.
The man made no reply. He thought his doom was sealed.
“Yes, thy weapon is bewitched.” Then raising her voice: “Where is the man who struck this white wizard in battle?”
A moment’s hesitation—and there advanced from the ranks of the fighting men a tall, powerful warrior. He grasped in his hand a broad-bladed assegai, with the point broken short off.