“Eh?” said Sir Henry and Good simultaneously. “That you don’t.”
“No, no,” said Mr Mackenzie. “I will have no man’s blood upon my hands. If it please God that my daughter should die this awful death, His will be done. You are a brave man (which I am not by any means) and a noble man, Quatermain, but you shall not go.”
“If nothing else turns up I shall go,” I said decidedly.
“This is an important matter,” said Mackenzie, addressing the Lygonani, “and we must think it over. You shall have our answer at dawn.”
“Very well, white man,” answered the savage indifferently; “only remember if thy answer is late thy little white bud will never grow into a flower, that is all, for I shall cut it with this,” and he touched the spear. “I should have thought that thou wouldst play a trick and attack us at night, but I know from the woman with the girl that your men are down at the coast, and that thou hast but twenty men here. It is not wise, white man,” he added with a laugh, “to keep so small a garrison for your ‘boma’ [kraal]. Well, good night, and good night to you also, other white men, whose eyelids I shall soon close once and for all. At dawn thou wilt bring me word. If not, remember it shall be as I have said.” Then turning to Umslopogaas, who had all the while been standing behind him and shepherding him as it were, “Open the door for me, fellow, quick now.”
This was too much for the old chief’s patience. For the last ten minutes his lips had been, figuratively speaking, positively watering over the Masai Lygonani, and this he could not stand. Placing his long hand on the Elmoran’s shoulder he gripped it and gave him such a twist as brought him face to face with himself. Then, thrusting his fierce countenance to within a few inches of the Masai’s evil feather-framed features, he said in a low growling voice:—
“Seest thou me?”
“Ay, fellow, I see thee.”
“And seest thou this?” and he held Inkosi-kaas before his eyes.
“Ay, fellow, I see the toy; what of it?”