"Why did you strike that man?" he demanded, pointing to the half-caste.
"That, I repeat," said the other, "is my affair--and his."
"Understand," said Max, "that I make it mine. When I entered this room, this poor wretch was on the floor, and you stood over him, whip in hand."
For the first time since they had entered the stockade, they saw the real man under the calm, black mask that the Portuguese habitually wore. Setting his brows in a frown, he whipped round upon Max, and spoke in much the same manner as a cat spits at a dog.
"You have yet to learn," he cried, "that in this place I am master. I take orders from no one. In Makanda my word is law. This half-bred cur is my servant. He knows it, as well as I. He knows, also, that if he serves me faithfully he will be rewarded. But if he dares to disobey my orders, he incurs the penalty I choose to inflict. There is my answer; and I ask you, who are you to come here and presume to dictate to me?"
"I have no more special mission," answered Max, "than any other who knows the difference between what is right and wrong. You may be master here--for all I care you may be master of the whole of Africa--but I am not going to stand by and see one man flog another for any cause. Raise that whip again on peril of your life."
Max dared the man on purpose. The fact was, he would have been glad enough to shoot. As for Edward, though all this time he had stood by in silence, his finger had never left the trigger of his revolver. But, Cæsar was not such a fool as to give either of them the chance they waited for. He cast his whip upon the ground.
"After this," said he, "I presume you will avail yourselves of my hospitality no longer. I shall be glad to see your backs."
"We shall be only too glad to go," said Max.
"I put no obstacle in your way," said Cæsar. "It is almost daylight now."