The group separated from him, and John Starhurst stood alone, facing the Buli, who was leaning on an enormous, knotted warclub.
"Come to me, missionary man, and overcome me," the Buli challenged.
"Even so will I come to you and overcome you," John Starhurst made answer, first wiping his spectacles and settling them properly, then beginning his advance.
The Buli raised the club and waited.
"In the first place, my death will profit you nothing," began the argument.
"I leave the answer to my club," was the Buli's reply.
And to every point he made the same reply, at the same time watching the missionary closely in order to forestall that cunning run-in under the lifted club. Then, and for the first time, John Starhurst knew that his death was at hand. He made no attempt to run in. Bareheaded, he stood in the sun and prayed aloud—the mysterious figure of the inevitable white man,
