"Then let them board the airship at once. She will be cast adrift in ten minutes."
At this there was a scramble for the gondolas, and very quickly all, save the captain and the navigating officer, were aboard. The judge and the colonel, however, prevailed upon by the maharajah's men, descended again to intercede for the life of the Indian.
"You have taken the man's jewels," said the colonel. "At least you might spare his life."
"You may have his body," remarked the airman, "but he must first drink the phial," and a stern look appeared once more in the robber-bandit's eyes. On this point he was unbending, and remained like adamant.
"The airship is ready now, sir," said the captain, making a final appeal for the life of the maharajah. "I should like to report, at any rate, when I do complete my journey, that all my passengers are safe, though I expect to be two days late with only two engines and this beam wind. Once more, will you release the Indian?"
"Bring him before me!" commanded the monarch at last, with a bored expression, and the Indian, still bound hand and foot, was brought before the pseudo king.
"Unloose his hands," came the order.
"They ask me to spare your life, Indian dog!" continued the robber, addressing the prince in contemptuous tones. "If you sue for it yourself, you may have it, otherwise..." and, instead of completing his sentence, the speaker shook the little phial in the face of the prisoner.
"I will not ask my life of you, serpent!" hissed the captive. "From you I will accept no favours. Robbed of my family heirlooms, my jewels and my household gods, I prefer to die. Give me the poison, and I will show you how a real prince of the royal line of Indus can die!"
For one awful instant, the desert chief glared at his enemy, who had dared to refuse his generous offer. Then, in angry tones, he cried:--