But Selim waited to hear no more. Ferodia had but begun his cruel order when the latent Bedouin spirit of resistance electrified him. His arm felt surcharged with the impulse to strike, and his hand, weighted with hate, was shot full in the face of Tifum, who reeled as if he had been struck with a knob-stick. Then with a light bound he sprang from the circle, sending a mocking laugh into Ferodia’s ears as he flew towards the King’s house, which had been pointed out to him on his first arrival, shouting “Kalulu! Simba, to me! To me, Simba! Kalulu!”
He had reached the threshold of the King’s house when he felt an arm on his shoulder. He turned around; it was Tifum! Rage had given the man a quickened sense and speed to his feet, even superior to the fear which hurried the feet of Selim away. The strong hand crushed the weakened frame of the youth to the ground for the execution of the cruel sentence of Ferodia, and his brain was fast whirling with the terror which possessed him, when he heard a shout—a roar of rage—behind him, and at the same time the force with which he was being compelled to the ground relaxed. Simba was seen bearing down upon the party with irresistible power. He saw for an instant how the gigantic form of his friend and protector dilated, as he had seen it in the battle of Kwikuru; he saw the powerful muscular arms, with their wealth of sinew and muscle, and the eyes glowing with the ferocity of a beast of prey: only an instant, for Simba was before Tifum, face to face with the monster who had striped the son of Amer, and there was no time to think before he saw Tifum’s body in the air, nor time to utter the thought of pardon which he wished to say, before he saw the man dashed with the force of a cannon ball against the body of warriors who had hurried up to lend assistance to Tifum—laying half a dozen of them prostrate on the ground.
Ferodia had seen the giant form of Simba hurrying to the rescue of the white slave, and comprehending at a glance that something would happen, he snatched his spear and started after him. But he had never imagined that such a thing as he saw could have been done by living man; and the wonder of it all paralysed his arm, which tingled but a moment before to send his spear through the man’s body. While Ferodia thus stood, lost in wonder at such human power, three new-comers had appeared on the scene—Moto, who had hurried after Ferodia, and stood behind him, seemingly careless and unconcerned; Kalulu and Katalambula, the King, who appeared on the threshold, the former of whom had dragged Selim behind him.
Katalambula, though old and on the verge of infirmity, could demean himself royally enough upon occasions; and this was one of them evidently; for he advanced and stood before Simba and Ferodia, spear in hand, with a bearing seldom witnessed.
“What means this, Ferodia?” he asked in a cool, quiet tone.
“It means, O King, that I sent Tifum to catch that runaway slave who deserted me in the great forest; that the slave ran towards thy house, and Tifum ran after him, only to meet with this man, who caught up Tifum as if he had been a piece of wood, and sent him flying against those warriors of mine, who are now picking themselves up.”
“Indeed! Who art thou? Oh, I remember, thou art the friend of the stranger who saved Kalulu in Urori! Thou art very strong.”
Then turning toward the group which had been prostrated, he asked if any of them had been hurt. One replied that he felt a pain in the chest, another that he could not breathe; one felt his head swim, another a pain in the abdomen; one felt a lump in his throat, another replied that he had a sore back; while Tifum declared he felt bruised all over, and all looked at Simba with terror.
Ferodia now advanced, and made as if he would lay a hand on Selim; but Kalulu interposed his slight form with a drawn bow and fixed arrow in his hand, and a dangerous glitter in his eyes.
“Keep away, Ferodia; or, by the grave of Mostana my father, I will send this arrow through thy body.”