They pushed forward a poor devil quaking with fear.
"How much gold has this one stolen?" he asked.
"Two sovereigns, my lord, fallen outside the barricades."
"Kill him."
A revolver-shot; and the poor wretch fell dead.
Three more executions followed, performed in as summary a fashion; and at each the executioners and their assistants were seized with a fit of hilarity which found expression in cheers and the cutting of many capers.
But when the fourth sufferer's turn came—he had stolen nothing, but was under suspicion of stealing—the executioner's revolver missed fire. Then Rolleston leapt from his throne, uncoiled his great height, towered above his victim's head and buried his knife between his shoulder-blades.
It was a moment of delirious delight. The guard of honour yelped and roared, dancing a frantic jig upon the platform. Rolleston resumed his throne.
After this, an axe cleft the air twice in succession and two heads leapt into the air.