"Master!" he cried, "save me from this man who hates me!"
George understood the gesture; his interpreter told him the rest; and, as a Houssa servant reached out his hand to the chief, the son of the house of Widnes, strong in the sense of his righteousness, struck it back.
"Look here, Sanders," forgetting all his previous misgivings and fears concerning the chief, "I should say that you have punished this poor devil enough!"
"Take that man, sergeant," said Sanders sharply; and the Houssa gripped Olari by the shoulder and flung him backward.
"You shall answer for this!" roared the Hon. George Tackle, in impotent wrath. "What are you going to do with him? My God! No, no!—not without a trial!"
He sprang forward, but the Houssas caught him and restrained him.
"For what you have done," said the correspondent—this was a month after, and he was going aboard the homeward steamer—"you shall suffer!"
"I only wish to point out to you," said Sanders, "that if I had not arrived in the nick of time, you would have done all the suffering—they were going to sacrifice you on the night I arrived. Didn't you see the post?"
"That is a lie!" said the other. "I will make England ring with your infamy. The condition of your district is a blot on civilisation!"