rba holding me so tight by
my hair that he tore handfuls of it from my scalp. All I could do was to
remain calm and composed, and to await with apparent unconcern the
preparations for the next sufferings to be inflicted upon me.

"_Miumta nani sehko!_" (Kill him with a rifle!) shouted a hoarse voice.

A matchlock was now being loaded by a soldier, and such was the quantity
of gunpowder they placed in the barrel that it made sure whoever fired it
would have his head blown off. It was with a certain amount of
satisfaction that I saw it handed over to the Pombo. That official
placed the side of the weapon against my forehead with the muzzle
pointing skyward. Then a soldier, leaning down, applied fire to the
fusee. Eventually there was a loud report, which gave my head a severe
shock. The overloaded matchlock flew clean out of the Pombo's hand, much
to everybody's surprise. I forced myself to laugh. The tantalizing
failure of every attempt they made to hurt me drove the crowd to the
highest pitch of fury.

"_Ta kossaton, ta kossaton!_" (Kill him, kill him!) exclaimed fierce
voices all around me. "_Ngala mangbo shidak majidan!_" (We cannot
frighten him!) "_Ta kossaton, ta kossaton!_" (Kill him, kill him!) The
whole valley resounded with these ferocious cries.

A huge two-handed sword was now handed to the Pombo, who drew it out of
its sheath.

"Kill him, kill him!" shouted the mob once more, urging on the
executioner, who seemed quite reluctant to come forward.

I seized this moment to say that they might kill me if they wished, but
that, if I died to-day, they would all die to-morrow--an undeniable
fact, for we are all bound to die some day. This seemed to cool them for
a moment; but the excitement in the crowd was too great, and at last
they succeeded in working the Pombo into a passion. His face became
quite unrecognizable, such was his excitement. He behaved like a madman.

At this point a Lama approached and slipped something into the mouth of
the executioner, who foamed at the lips. A Lama held his sword, while he
turned up one sleeve of his coat to have his arm free, and the Lamas
turned up the other for him. Then he strode toward me with slow,
ponderous steps, swinging the shiny, sharp blade from side to side, with
his bare arms outstretched.

The man Nerba, who was still holding me by the hair, was told to make me
bend my neck. I resisted with what little strength I had left,
determined to keep my head erec