He got up presently with the knife in his own hand. He patted and soothed the mule, led it a few paces away, gave it some hay to nibble from one of the forage bags. Tranquil and composed at once, in the manner of mules, it allowed Emmie to take charge of it. The man lay quietly where he had been left, emitting groans—real ones, not sham ones.
Dyke went to him, kicked him, and told him to get up. He obeyed at once, staggering to his feet and moving his hands vaguely. He was dazed, but could understand all that was said to him.
Dyke had a very ugly smile as he looked at his bleeding face, but he spoke quietly and with a great affectation of politeness. He told him that he might go now. They would retain the mule, but they did not require his company any further.
The man obeyed, beginning to move stumblingly in the direction of the zig-zag path, but Dyke barred his progress.
“No, not that way,” he said. “That’s the way we’re going ourselves. You would taint the air for us. You smell of garlic. That way, please”; and he pointed with the knife to the cliff.
The man, as if waking from his stupor, pleaded anxiously; the cliff was too steep, to attempt it meant certain death. But Dyke said no, he had examined it; any agile, fearless person could easily manage it.
“Besides, this is my fun. You fellows can’t have all the fun to yourself. I, too, like a joke—even a stale joke—the joke you’ve seen so often. Please tell your master how well I’ve learnt the trick of it”; and he pricked him lightly with the knife. “Now, skip—spring like a guanaco, dance like a mountain goat. Let the rocks echo to our laughter.”
It was dreadful to see. With clumsy antics, in a sullen rage and despair, the man retreated from the goading knife. Driven nearer and nearer to the edge of the cliff, he made strange abrupt pauses and capered heavily before moving nearer still; then, shrinking, recoiling, on the very brink he really danced.
Emmie called to Dyke—“Tony, don’t. Tony, don’t”; but at first he did not seem to hear her.
“Tony, stop,” she called again. “You are making me feel faint. I shall lose the mule.”