In three strides he was upon him, and in another moment the negro was twisting and twining in a strong grasp from which his soul, if he had one, might possibly find escape towards hell, but his body never. Kahikatea had gripped him by the arms. Now he transferred one hand to the wizard’s throat, and the end began. As I stood by and watched, I thought it strange that the negro did not use his liberated arm and hand to clutch at the one which gripped his throat. Instead of doing that, as they swayed to and fro, he was feeling with it for something in his hair. His eyes were starting out of his head, but his fingers were still searching through his hair as Kahikatea shook and strangled and shook him again.
Presently the fingers drew forth a slender thing—a small, reed-like dagger, only large enough to give a needle’s prick, but I knew it was poisoned. With a quick shout of “Take care!” I darted forward just as the negro was raising his arm. I caught him by the wrist, but, with a quick side twist, he wrenched loose, scratching my skin with the cursed thing as he did so. Then, swift as lightning, before I could intervene, he raised his arm again, and drove the point into Kahikatea’s shoulder.
A last horror swept through me as I realised that in less than three seconds we should both be at his mercy by virtue of the swift poison; and the form lying still in death behind us—great God! should
“KAHIKATEA STOOD LIKE A BRONZE STATUE, WITH ONE ARM STRETCHED OUT. IN THE HAND OF THAT ARM WAS THE THROAT OF THE WIZARD, WHOSE BODY HUNG FROM IT, LIMP AND LIFELESS.”
the body of the Pure One pass into this foul wizard’s hands after all? In another moment all would be over. I felt my senses going, when I saw that the negro was trying to speak, but Kahikatea’s hand was still too tight on his throat. Not until it relaxed under the influence of the poison could he speak the words which would take command of our failing wills. Then, when I saw that, a lightning thought flashed through my mind: the commanding voice should be mine. I was going fast, but I still had strength enough to cry: “Kahikatea! my voice is the only thing! You cannot let go! Kill him! Kill him! You cannot let go!”
The last words seemed to come from everywhere. Myself seemed blotted out, and my own words sounded like many voices crying as one from beyond the horizon: “You cannot let go!” Then I know not what happened. Consciousness fled to this extent—I was conscious of nothing but a blank.
* * * * *
When I awoke I found myself on the stone floor. I sat up and gazed about me. The fire was burnt low, and I could see only the form of Hinauri still lying where it had been. The place was too dark to see more. I rose hastily, and kicked the remains of the fire together. A bright blaze sprang up, and I turned towards the spot where I had last seen the wizard in the grip of my friend. They were still there. Apparently the fight was not yet finished, for I could see vaguely the two figures standing together in the gloom. How could this be? The fire could not have burnt down in less than two hours.
I snatched a piece of smouldering pineheart, fanned it to a blaze, and, hastening to where they stood, held it up. The thing that I saw was as grim as it was weird. Kahikatea stood like a bronze statue, with one arm stretched out. In the hand of that arm was the throat of the wizard, whose body hung from it, limp and lifeless. Kahikatea’s face was set, his teeth clenched; the command, “You cannot let go!” was written on iron in every feature, muscle, and limb; and, with his eyes fixed on the lifeless thing he held suspended by the throat before him, he was still strangling that wizard, whose last twisted hideousness was too frightful to describe.