Christopher, in the background, edged round, keeping his back, as I kept mine, to the feeble light. I could not imagine that Mr. Vancouver, desperate though he was, would seize this moment to try issues with his fate; but I had not guessed soon enough that the red light meant madness. With a choking curse he snatched up his heavy stool and sprang with it upraised in both hands to crush me.
Before his leap was ended, a heavy body crashed into him, and two giant arms were cracking his joints and sending the stool flying over my head. The two guards came running in, but I sent them back. Christopher needed no aid.
The pinioned man rolled his head and eyes horribly, and cursed through foaming lips. He made futile efforts to sink his teeth into Christopher; he kicked wildly; he squirmed like an animal under a strangling hand. But Christopher’s arms knew the mercy of strength, and he kept dropping soothing words. Like a pillar sunk deep in the earth stood Christopher while his prisoner gasped curses and put fierce energy into every muscle.
“I know you!” he sputtered at me. “You are the infernal native dog that fooled me and trifled with me in camp. Let me at his throat, you baboon!”—to Christopher. “Loose me! Let me die with my arms free!” He called the king and me and all the natives unspeakable names. “In decency and mercy,” he fumed, “kill me at once! I know now what you are going to do with me,—you cannibals!”
Christopher’s quieting tongue was as persistent as his arms, and under them Mr. Vancouver was gradually breaking down. Christopher assured the wretch that no harm would befall him. The man who could resist such persuasion would be less than human and worse than mad. Mr. Vancouver’s curses straggled off, his struggles ceased, and the red flame died in his eyes. Christopher had coaxed reason back.
He seated Mr. Vancouver, bathed his face, and gave him water to drink. With a gentle touch he unlaced and removed the sufferer’s shoes, and undressed him. The man had become a child in Christopher’s hands, and was wholly docile when made comfortable in bed.
There had been no personal heed of Christopher in Mr. Vancouver’s yielding; but it evidently occurred to him at last that here was something strangely different from the manner of the natives—something nearer and humanly akin. He had been studying Christopher; and when he was composed, and Christopher was turning away, Mr. Vancouver seized his arm and held him, looking earnestly into his face, and then covering his figure with a startled glance. His eyes opened with astonishment.
“Who are you?” he demanded under his breath.
“You know, sir.”
“Christopher!”