After that, he shot Max such a glance as it were impossible to describe. Therein were passion, hatred and vengeance.
He felt in his pockets, as if he searched for something. It was his revolver, which had fallen to the ground. Not seeing it, he staggered to the Arab who was nearest, and held out his hand.
"Give me that," said he in Arabic.
The man, with the stoic indifference of all his race, handed over his rifle, and Cæsar took it, though his hand was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Step by step, he returned to Max. He walked like a drunken man. There were great weals upon his face and hands, and there was blood upon his coat.
"You shall pay for that!" said he.
The slaves cowered at the water's edge. They were like sheep in a storm. As for de Costa, he stood there, impotent to help, yet willing to do so, his hands clasped before him, and shivering from head to foot. The Arab who had handed over his rifle was smoking a cigarette.
"You shall pay for that!" said Cæsar.
So saying, he raised his rifle to his shoulder and took long and careful aim. He was not ten paces from Max. It seemed impossible he could miss. Still, we must remember that he was unsteady on his feet, that it was all he could do to stand.
There was a flash--a loud report--a quick jet of fire; and Max was struck in the chest with the cotton wad, and his face was blackened by the powder. For all that, the bullet had sped past, to bury itself in the bed of the Hidden River.
Cæsar let fall an oath and then re-loaded, ejecting the cartridge case. That done, he stepped even nearer, and lifted his rifle again.