Strange, he thought; they seemed to guess what was in his mind. Niaga ran from the quiet crowd and took his hand.
“No, Martin Lord; you must not interfere!”
“Where’s Howard?”
“He is a free man; he has a right to choose—”
“I’m going to take him back.” He drew one of his guns. She looked at him steadily, without fear, and she said,
“We made you welcome; we have given you our friendship, and now you—”
He pushed her aside brutally because her gentleness, her lack of anger, tightened the constriction of his own sense of guilt. Lord fired his weapon at the trunk of a tree. The wood flamed red for a moment and the sound of the explosion rocked the air, powdering the grass with black ash.
“This is the kind of power controlled by men,” he said. His voice was harsh, shrill with shame and disgust for the role he had to play. “I shall use this weapon to destroy your homes—each of them, one by one—unless you surrender Don Howard to me.”
As he turned the pistol slowly toward the closest yellow wall, Niaga whispered, “Violence is a violation of the law of humanity. We offered Don Howard sanctuary and peace—as we offer it to all of you. Stay with us, Martin Lord; make your home here.”