"Cairnes," I said softly, "hush that unseemly racket, man, and give heed to my words."
Three times I was compelled to repeat this warning before I noticed him lift his head, in evidence that the faint sound had finally reached his ears. Unable to turn, he rolled his eyes inquiringly upward.
"What is it, O Lord?" he questioned, with such unbounded faith in a celestial visitant I found it hard to restrain a laugh.
"Don't be a fool," I whispered back hastily. "The Almighty may have guided me here, but 'tis a man in the flesh who speaks."
The sectary made hard efforts to glance behind, but the cords held too firmly, so I merely gained a glimpse of the side of his face.
"Merciful Jehovah! 'tis the voice of Master Benteen," he exclaimed joyfully. "I know not how you could come there unless you descended from the sky."
"From the opposite quarter, my friend," I replied, awake to the humor. "Pray speak with less noise, and pay heed to what I say. Tell me where the priest stands; you are so confounded broad of shoulder I can see nothing beyond."
"He kneels to the right of the altar, the crawling spawn of hell, where he has good chance to fill his lean body with food he makes pretence to feed unto that foul figure of wood. He is a full imp of Satan, the black-faced idolater."
"I care little as to that. Are there others present?"
"None, save the guard, a naked savage. He leans in the doorway, looking without."