On beholding his countrymen, the thief’s visage underwent a series of remarkable changes, for he knew that escape was impossible, and the expression of his chief’s face forbade him to hope for mercy.
“I have found you, mine enemy,” growled Ongoloo—of course in the native tongue.
“Mercy!” exclaimed Wapoota, in a piteous tone. “Mercy no longer dwells in my breast,” returned the chief.
In proof of the truth of this assertion he ordered his men to seize and bind Wapoota, and proceed at once with the execution of his cruel purpose.
The unfortunate wretch, unable to face the appalling prospect gave vent to a series of terrible shrieks, and struggled fiercely while they bound him. But in vain would he have struggled if his cries for mercy had not reached other ears than those of his countrymen.
Not far from the spot where the thief had been captured, Zeppa chanced to be sitting, idly toying with the branch of a tree which he had fashioned into a rude staff wherewith to climb the mountain more easily.
When the first shriek ran among the cliffs, it seemed to startle the maniac out of the depressing lethargy under which he had laboured so long. He sprang up and listened, with dilated eyes and partly open mouth.
Again and again the shrieks rang out, and were echoed from cliff to cliff.
As a tigress bounds to the rescue of her young, so sprang Zeppa down the hillside in the direction of the cries. He came suddenly to the edge of a cliff which overlooked the scene, and beheld a savage just about to plunge a knife into Wapoota’s breast.
Zeppa gave vent to a tremendous roar, which terminated in a wild laugh. Then he wrenched a mass of rock from the cliffs and hurled it down.