"But how can it be done?" exclaimed the tschorbadji, pale with anxiety and horror. "Who will put these men to death? I have no executioner."
"If necessary," said Mohammed, his eyes flashing with resolve—"If necessary, I will behead them myself."
"Bravely said!" cried Cousrouf Pacha, rising from his seat. "Truly,
Mohammed Ali, I begin to be pleased with you."
"That, sir, is more than I desire," said Mohammed, calmly; he gave one threatening glance at the proud pacha, and then turned quickly to the tschorbadji.
"Remember, sir, that you gave me absolute authority to act as I thought best. I gave you my word of honor to bring back these rebels to reason and obedience. In return, you promised that I alone should decide the matter. It must therefore be so. I have sworn to the men of Praousta that, unless they submit, the heads of the sheik and the three ulemas shall fall; and I repeat, so must it be, even if they fall by my hand, if to-morrow, at the hour of prayer, the gold is not produced."
"Then may Allah mercifully bring the rebels to repentance!" sighed the tschorbadji. "May they submit to your decision, and bring the gold at the appointed time. Until then we must put the prisoners in some place of safety. Give orders, Mohammed, that they be taken to the prison, and carefully guarded."
"And why to the prison, sir?" asked Mohammed, quietly. "Here in the middle of the court-yard is a space encircled with an iron railing."
"So there is," replied the tschorbadji, "it was prepared as a cage for my beautiful lion, and he had lived within that railing for four years, when some miserable wretch, who knew I loved the noble animal, poisoned it."
"Well, I think the cage your lion occupied is large enough to afford lodging for one night to the sheik and the ulemas."
"What! confine them here in the open air?"