The king let out a disdainful roar, but Ilalah’s words impressed many in the crowd and caused the Techlas to murmur again.
“What can they do?” asked Nalig-Nad, derisively. “They are but human and they are in our power.”
“They have their magic chariot,” she said, “which you all know can deal death and destruction to their foes.”
“Magic!” retorted the king, laughing boisterously; “do you call that poor, man-made contrivance magic?”
All eyes turned toward the opening, where a hundred yards beyond the broken wall poor Moit’s automobile was standing motionless as we had left it.
Most of those present had witnessed the machine’s marvelous performances, and in nearly every face now lurked an expression of awe or apprehension. Nalig-Nad saw the look, and it aroused him to fury.
“Come!” he cried, “I will prove that the white men have no magic.”
Seizing a heavy, bronze-tipped spear from an attendant he ran from the enclosure and made directly for the automobile, followed by a crowd of his most devoted adherents. The others, with us, remained to watch curiously what he would do.
I saw Moit’s face pale and his lips tremble; but he stood firm and steadfast while the king rushed upon his beloved machine and with a powerful stroke drove the spear clean through the plates of sheathing which protected the body.
I own I was amazed at such a display of strength, but a more athletic savage than Nalig-Nad I have never beheld. When the jagged rent was torn in the side of the automobile the crowd that surrounded it danced gleefully and jeered at the helpless child of our poor inventor’s brain as if it were alive and could feel their scorn.