“Behold Makar Makalo, the new ruler of Zaila!” cried the heralds, and from the vast crowd burst one universal shout of satisfaction.
CHAPTER VI.
A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH.
At the sight of the daring Arab chief Guy could scarcely restrain himself. He would have drawn his revolver and shot him down then and there, but Colonel Carrington interfered.
“Don’t excite them,” he said cautiously; “their punishment is sure in the end. How can they defend Zaila against the British gunboats that will be sent here? We have possibly a chance for our lives yet. Don’t destroy that last chance.”
The colonel plainly had strong hopes. It is well enough in some cases to fight to the very last, and have your names printed in the army list as heroes who died at their post, but in this case the safety of Sir Arthur was plainly the important point, and any concession must be made to secure this. So all idea of making a fight of it was given up. Short and brief would have been the struggle for Guy and Melton, as the three Hindoos were the only ones armed, and they had but a scant supply of ammunition.
Makar held a short conversation with three or four Arabs, and then, slipping down from his camel, he walked off a little from the residency and shouted loudly, “Inglis men, come down. You no be killed. You prisoners of war.”
The idea of Kakar’s investing this bloody outbreak with all the dignity of legitimate warfare was ridiculous, and the colonel laughed.