‘All right, Mackenzie,’ I said, ‘you can tell the man that I will exchange myself against Flossie, only I stipulate that she shall be safely in this house before they kill me.’
‘Eh?’ said Sir Henry and Good simultaneously. ‘That you don’t.’
‘No, no,’ said Mr Mackenzie. ‘I will have no man’s blood upon my hands. If it please God that my daughter should die this awful death, His will be done. You are a brave man (which I am not by any means) and a noble man, Quatermain, but you shall not go.’
‘If nothing else turns up I shall go,’ I said decidedly.
‘This is an important matter,’ said Mackenzie, addressing the Lygonani, ‘and we must think it over. You shall have our answer at dawn.’
‘Very well, white man,’ answered the savage indifferently; ‘only remember if thy answer is late thy little white bud will never grow into a flower, that is all, for I shall cut it with this,’ and he touched the spear. ‘I should have thought that thou wouldst play a trick and attack us at night, but I know from the woman with the girl that your men are down at the coast, and that thou hast but twenty men here. It is not wise, white man,’ he added with a laugh, ‘to keep so small a garrison for you “boma” [kraal]. Well, good night, and good night to you also, other white men, whose eyelids I shall soon close once and for all. At dawn thou wilt bring me word. If not, remember it shall be as I have said.’ Then turning to Umslopogaas, who had all the while been standing behind him and shepherding him as it were, ‘Open the door for me, fellow, quick now.’
This was too much for the old chief’s patience. For the last ten minutes his lips had been, figuratively speaking, positively watering over the Masai Lygonani, and this he could not stand. Placing his long hand on the Elmoran’s shoulder he gripped it and gave him such a twist as brought him face to face with himself. Then, thrusting his fierce countenance to within a few inches of the Masai’s evil feather-framed features, he said in a low growling voice: —
‘Seest thou me?’
‘Ay, fellow, I see thee.’
‘And seest thou this?’ and he held Inkosi-kaas before his eyes.
‘Ay, fellow, I see the toy; what of it?’
‘Thou Masai dog, thou boasting windbag, thou capturer of little girls, with this “toy” will I hew thee limb from limb. Well for thee that thou art a herald, or even now would I strew thy members about the grass.’
The Masai shook his great spear and laughed loud and long as he answered, ‘I would that thou stoodst against me man to man, and we would see,’ and again he turned to go still laughing.
‘Thou shalt stand against me man to man, be not afraid,’ replied Umslopogaas, still in the same ominous voice. ‘Thou shalt stand face to face with Umslopogaas, of the blood of Chaka, of the people of the Amazulu, a captain in the regiment of the Nkomabakosi, as many have done before, and bow thyself to Inkosi-kaas, as many have done before. Ay, laugh on, laugh on! tomorrow night shall the jackals laugh as they crunch thy ribs.’
When the Lygonani had gone, one of us thought of opening the basket he had brought as a proof that Flossie was really their prisoner. On lifting the lid it was found to contain a most lovely specimen of both bulb and flower of the Goya lily, which I have already described, in full bloom and quite uninjured, and what was more a note in Flossie’s childish hand written in pencil upon a greasy piece of paper that had been used to wrap up some food in: —
‘Dearest Father and Mother,’ ran the note, ‘The Masai caught us when we were coming home with the lily. I tried to escape but could not. They killed Tom: the other man ran away. They have not hurt nurse and me, but say that they mean to exchange us against one of Mr Quatermain’s party. I will have nothing of the sort. Do not let anybody give his life for me. Try and attack them at night; they are going to feast on three bullocks they have stolen and killed. I have my pistol, and if no help comes by dawn I will shoot myself. They shall not kill me. If so, remember me always, dearest father and mother. I am very frightened, but I trust in God. I dare not write any more as they are beginning to notice. Goodbye. — Flossie.’