Once or twice lightning flashed and was followed
after a pause by the distant growling of thunder. The air, too, grew
very oppressive. Dense silence reigned. In all those multitudes no one
spoke or stirred; even Sammy ceased his howling, I suppose because he
had become exhausted and fainted away, as people often do just before
they are hanged. It was a most solemn time. Nature seemed to be
adapting herself to the mood of sacrifice and making ready for us a
mighty pall.
At length I heard the sound of arrows being drawn from their quivers,
and then the squeaky voice of Imbozwi, saying:
"Wait a little, the cloud will lift. There is light behind it, and it
will be nicer if they can see the arrows coming."
The cloud did begin to lift, very slowly, and from beneath it flowed a
green light like that in a cat's eye.
"Shall we shoot, Imbozwi?" asked the voice of the captain of the
archers.
"Not yet, not yet. Not till the people can watch them die."
The edge of cloud lifted a little more; the green light turned to a
fiery red thrown by the sunk sun and reflected back upon the earth
from the dense black cloud above.
Pages:
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292