Suddenly, the chief who had replied to von Schalckenberg’s questions, sprang forward, and raising his right hand, with a sheaf of spears in its grasp, above his head, shouted—
“Warriors of the Makolo, what is this? Why stand ye, silent, before these strangers, as cattle stand before a hungry lion? Who are they, that they dare come hither to dictate to us and our king? Once before have they been here, and—”
As though unexpectedly pushed by some one behind, he suddenly fell forward on his face, dead! while von Schalckenberg composedly lowered his rifle from his shoulder.
“It had to be done,” he explained to his companions, meanwhile keeping his gaze steadily fixed upon the crowd of savages beneath him. “In another second or two those fellows down there would have been divided into two parties, and we should have had a pitched battle raging at our feet, with a loss of hundreds of lives. Evidently, the fellow was one of the king’s friends, and can, therefore, very well be spared.”
“Quite right, Professor,” answered Lethbridge. “You forestalled me by a second or two only. If you had not fired, I should have done so, for I saw that the fellow meant mischief.”
As the chief fell prone before them, the excited crowd of savages became suddenly silent and rigid. Then von Schalckenberg waved his hand toward the motionless figure, and said in solemn and impressive tones—
“So perish those who presume to dispute the will of the Four Spirits! Let no one touch him, but let him lie there as a warning to other rebellious natures—if such, perchance, should be among you.”
At this moment, Lobelalatutu and his band reappeared, with M’Bongwele in their midst. The king’s heavy features wore a sullen, savage expression as he was led forward through the narrow lane that the assembled warriors opened out for his passage; and he threw upward a single glance of mingled fear and defiance at the little group of white men as he advanced. As he reached the open space that intervened between the ship and the thickly massed crowd of his people, and came to a halt, he looked quickly about him, and suddenly demanded, in a loud, harsh tone of voice—
“Where is Malatambu? Let him stand forth!”
“Behold, he lies there, dead, slain by the mighty magic of the Great Spirits!” answered a chief, pointing to the prostrate body of the man who had fallen before the professor’s rifle.