Once, when she sat apart with Chaka, I overheard him urging her to free Paul.
“It was Paul who saved you,” said he. “No other deserves the reward.”
Another time Allerton pleaded for the atkayma, saying that unless Chaka had caught her as Paul stumbled she would have been crushed.
I was glad to find myself disregarded in the matter, since I knew very well my service in crying a warning was not to be compared with what they had done. It must have amused Ama to hear these two brave fellows each plead for the other, for at last she said:
“You must decide it between yourselves, and I will abide by the decision.”
This mischievous shift accomplished nothing at all, as the girl plainly foresaw. They argued with one another until the deadlock became more set than ever. They proposed to leave it to me to decide, and I refused to interfere. Neither would any of our party umpire the case. In despair they told Ama it was up to her again.
She shook her head and sent for the ancient High Priest, curtly bidding him keep awake and attend to what she said.
“I cannot decide which of these three strangers actually saved me from death,” said she. “It is natural I should be grateful to all three, for which reason it is unjust to force me to decide the question. Therefore I command you, by virtue of your office, to say, and at once, which shall be pardoned and so saved from the sacrifice.”
“I’ll think it over,” sighed the High Priest.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” declared Ama, imperiously. “To-morrow some one of these devoted ones must be selected for the sacrifice of Adakalpa, the Feast of the Harvest. Gather thy wits then, my counselor, and speak!”