“That he wishes to have done with war,” replied the man.
“That is a good wish, but why did the chief begin war?”
“Keona began it!” said the savage, angrily. “We thought our wars with the Christians were going to stop. But Keona is bad. He put the war spirit into my people.”
Mr Mason knew this to be true.
“Then,” said he, “Keona deserves punishment.”
“Let him die,” answered the chief, and an exclamation of assent broke from the other natives. Keona himself, happening to be there, became pale and looked anxious, but remained where he stood nevertheless, with his arms crossed on his dark breast. A bandage of native cloth was tied round his wounded arm. Without saying a word, he undid this, tore it off; and allowed the blood to ooze from the re-opened wound.
It was a silent appeal to the feelings and the sense of justice of his comrades, and created a visible impression in his favour.
“That wound was received by one who would have been a murderer!” said Mr Mason, observing the effect of this action.
“He struck me!” cried Keona, fiercely.
“He struck you in defending his own home against a cowardly attack,” answered the missionary.