The king made neither movement nor reply, but Sanders reached for his revolver.
His hand closed on the butt, when something struck him and he went down like a log.
"Now we will kill the king of the Isisi, and the white man also." The voice was the chief's, but Sanders was not taking any particular interest in the conversation, because there was a hive of wild bees buzzing in his head, and a maze of pain; he felt sick.
"If you kill me it is little matter," said the king's voice, "because there are many men who can take my place; but if you slay Sandi, you slay the father of the people, and none can replace him."
"He whipped you, little king," said the chief of the Akasava mockingly.
"I would throw him into the river," said a strange voice after a long interval; "thus shall no trace be found of him, and no man will lay his death to our door."
"What of the king?" said another. Then came a crackling of twigs and the voices of men.
"They are searching," whispered a voice. "King, if you speak I will kill you now."
"Kill!" said the young king's even voice, and shouted, "Oh, M'sabo! Beteli! Sandi is here!"
That was all Sandi heard.