“Nay, he shall not die,” I replied; “he who tries to touch him shall die indeed.”
“Seize him!” roared Twala to the executioners; who stood round red to the eyes with the blood of their victims.
They advanced towards us, and then hesitated. As for Ignosi, he clutched his spear, and raised it as though determined to sell his life dearly.
“Stand back, ye dogs!” I shouted, “if ye would see to-morrow’s light. Touch one hair of his head and your king dies,” and I covered Twala with my revolver. Sir Henry and Good also drew their pistols, Sir Henry pointing his at the leading executioner, who was advancing to carry out the sentence, and Good taking a deliberate aim at Gagool.
Twala winced perceptibly as my barrel came in a line with his broad chest.
“Well,” I said, “what is it to be, Twala?”
Then he spoke.
“Put away your magic tubes,” he said; “ye have adjured me in the name of hospitality, and for that reason, but not from fear of what ye can do, I spare him. Go in peace.”
“It is well,” I answered unconcernedly; “we are weary of slaughter, and would sleep. Is the dance ended?”
“It is ended,” Twala answered sulkily. “Let these dead dogs,” pointing to the long rows of corpses, “be flung out to the hyænas and the vultures,” and he lifted his spear.