Twala's sombre eye ran up and down our ranks, and I felt, as for a moment it rested on myself, that the position had developed a new horror. What if he chose to begin by fighting me? What chance should I have against a desperate savage six feet five high, and broad in proportion? I might as well commit suicide at once. Hastily I made up my mind to decline the combat, even if I were hooted out of Kukuanaland as a consequence. It is, I think, better to be hooted than to be quartered with a battle-axe.
Presently Twala spoke. "Incubu, what sayest thou, shall we end what we began to-day, or shall I call thee coward, white—even to the liver?"
"Nay," interposed Ignosi hastily; "thou shalt not fight with Incubu."
"Not if he is afraid," said Twala.
Unfortunately Sir Henry understood this remark, and the blood flamed up into his cheeks.
"I will fight him," he said; "he shall see if I am afraid."
"For Heaven's sake," I entreated, "don't risk your life against that of a desperate man. Anybody who saw you to-day will know that you are not a coward."
"I will fight him," was the sullen answer. "No living man shall call me a coward. I am ready now!" and he stepped forward and lifted his axe.
I wrung my hands over this absurd piece of Quixotism; but if he was determined on fighting, of course I could not stop him.
"Fight not, my white brother," said Ignosi, laying his hand affectionately on Sir Henry's arm; "thou hast fought enough, and if aught befell thee at his hands it would cut my heart in twain."
"I will fight, Ignosi," was Sir Henry's answer.
