“Now then,” continued the colonel sharply, as if he were addressing a delegate from a mutinous company of his old regiment, “why have you brought all these men after me, sir?—Interpret quickly, Cyril.”
This was done, and the man’s voice trembled as he answered.
“He says they made him come, sir,” said Cyril.
“Which is a lie,” cried John Manning; “for he has been dodging us all the time.”
“Silence there. ’Tention!” cried the colonel harshly, and the old soldier drew himself up smartly, lowered and then shouldered arms, just as if he had been on parade.
It was a trifle, but it had its effect upon the Indians, giving them a great idea of the importance of the colonel, who stood there, erect and stern, issuing his orders; and in their eyes he was a great white chief, if not a king.
“Now,” he said sharply, “let that boy ask him what these people want.”
Cyril interpreted and obtained his answer, the peril of their position sharpening the boy’s faculties, and making him snatch at words of which he was in doubt.
“They have come,” said Cyril, “to see why you are here. They say you have no right to come amongst the kina gatherers, and that you must go back to the coast at once.”
“Indeed!” said the colonel haughtily. “We shall see about that. Tell them, boy, that I am the English chief of a great white queen; that I have come into this country to examine it and its products, and that I will shoot dead with this piece the first man who dares to interfere with me and mine.”