"Do you suppose I am not man enough to fight those two men alone?" sneered Obrevic. "Stay behind! I'll take the consequences upon myself. Make way, Stephan, I am going into the ravine."
A threatening murmur rose on all sides against the young chief. The men had followed with eager, passionate approval when he set out to crush his foe. The foreign officer had slain the head of the tribe, they were all summoned to avenge the fallen man--first of all, his son. That was a thing imperative, inevitable, which according to their ideas of justice must be done. Each man was ready to aid, and no one scrupled because the victim had been treacherously lured into a trap and was now assailed by greatly superior numbers.
Danira had told the truth; here only the deed was important; how it was accomplished no one cared.
But now the point in question was the violation of an old and sacred tradition, which no one had yet ventured to assail, and superstition, which among uncultured races is even more powerful than religion, stood with threatening aspect between Gerald and his pursuers. The Vila spring was mysteriously associated with all the legends of the country to which it belonged; to violate it was to bring misfortune upon land and people. Only a nature like that of Marco, who knew no law save his own will, could have attempted to rebel against it, and when he did so his comrades seemed on the verge of preventing him by force. Surrounding him they barred his way to the ravine. Weapons flashed and it seemed as though the conflict might end in bloodshed, when Stephan Hersovac again interposed.
"Let us have peace," he said, placing himself by his friend's side. "Shall our own blood flow for the sake of an enemy, a stranger? Keep back, Marco, you don't know what you are doing," and, lowering his voice so that no one save Obrevic could hear, he added:
"You want to lead us to the attack again to-morrow. Not a man will follow you if you shed blood in this place, you will be outlawed and all will turn from you."
He had taken the right way to restrain the fierce Obrevic. The latter uttered a suppressed exclamation of fury and clenched his teeth, but he made no further effort to break through the circle that surrounded him. He knew only too well that his disheartened, diminished band followed him reluctantly to the combat in which he meant to deal the enemy one last, desperate blow; that the men saw safety only in surrender. The power of his personal influence still induced them to obey him, but this power would be ended if he actually entered the magic circle with uplifted weapon.
Just at this moment a single figure, apparently a boy, came toward them from the village. It was the shepherd lad who had been sent to carry Gerald the false message, who had served as guide, and then hurried to Marco with the tidings. He ran at full speed to the men, whom he at last reached, panting and breathless.
"Beware, Marco Obrevic!" he gasped, "the soldiers are coming--twice your number--they are searching for him, the foreign officer--and you!"
All started at the unexpected news, but Marco vehemently exclaimed: