On the inside of each shield was a small sheath holding a short double-edged knife. The weapons were plain and serviceable, no attempt being made to engrave the metalwork or to embellish the hafts with paint and feathers. Simplicity of equipment seemed to be the keynote of these mysterious men.
At length, in reply to an invitation from the chief, two warriors stepped forward and solemnly presented the trophies—the captives' rifles. These were accepted without any hesitation, the chief apparently knowing the principles of modern firearm construction; but, strangely enough, he carefully examined the stocks as if to find some inscription.
Discovering none, a shade of disappointment flitted over his features, and without a word he handed them back to the men from whom he had received them.
Although the giant was obviously a person of rank, even if he were not the supreme head of the tribe, there was a total lack of servile abasement noticeable in the case of the Zulu, Matabele, and other Kaffir tribes.
The men tendering the rifles simply saluted by bringing the right hand in a horizontal position up to the chin. This was the recognised form of salutation. Equals greeted one another by bringing the right hand only breast high.
Several times Colin bethought him of the amulet, but, his arms being bound, he was unable to produce it. Perhaps, after all, it was a trump card. On the other hand, it might fail to produce the same effect upon these mysterious men as it had once upon the obviously less intellectual natives around Kilembonga.
Presently four warriors, laying aside their spears and shields, strode forward and grasped Desmond by the arms and legs, and held him in a horizontal position. Tiny did not utter a sound, nor did he offer any resistance, but he craned his neck and looked at the executioner's block with ill-concealed dismay.
It was a moment when the rattle of a machine-gun would have been most welcome. Even a stampeding of wild elephants or a death-dealing thunderstorm would have been a pleasurable diversion, but nothing of the sort happened.
At a word from the chief, Tiny's captors searched his pockets and tore open his shirt. Every article they took—knife, cartridges, handkerchief, matches, purse, and notebook they examined and then placed in a row on to the ground. They expressed no delight at the various objects which are highly prized by savages; indeed, their looks betrayed disappointment.
The examination over, Tiny was set upon his feet and left alone. The four warriors next directed their attention towards Colin, and he, too, was placed in a horizontal position and searched.