ejaculated Sir Arthur. "What most amazing impu--" a
sudden rap on the head from one of the guards cut short his speech, and
he relapsed into indignant silence.

Makar was plainly a man of iron nerve, for he met calmly and even boldly
the indignant, defiant glances that were turned upon him as he scanned
the row of prisoners ranged before him.

Glancing toward the windows he dispersed with a wave of his hand the
dark swarm of faces peering eagerly within, and then at last he deigned
to break the silence which had become so ominous.

"I have promised ye your lives," he said. "Makar never breaks his word.
Allah is great, and it is the will of Allah that Zaila should belong to
the true followers of the prophet. Already has his will been fulfilled.
The hated Inglis soldiers are dead. Rao Khan is the ruler of Zaila, and
Makar is his servant."

He paused and helped himself to another glass of champagne. It was
evident that Makar was not at heart a true follower of the prophet, for
the Koran strictly forbids all intoxicants.

Another impressive pause followed. Guy glanced at Melton and was alarmed
to see the dead white pallor on his face. Melton alone perhaps knew what
was coming. On the rest the blow fell with crushing severity.

"Have I not said that Makar's word is inviolate?" the Arab resumed,
leaning forward and uttering each syllable sharply and distinctly.

"Can Makar break his pledge?" and he turned to his solemn visaged
ministers.

"No, no, no," they muttered in guttural accents, and solemnly shaking
their heads.

"Then hark ye all," Makar went on. "I have sworn on the Koran that
whatsoever prisoners fell to my lot should be delivered over as slaves
to the Somalis of the Galla country. I have spoken. It is Kismet. At
daybreak ye start for the interior."

Sir Arthur staggered back against the wall with a dismal groan, the
Hindoos fell on their knees begging piteously for mercy, Colonel
Carrington seemed dazed, stupefied, Guy clinched his hands and made a
desperate effort to bear up bravely, while Melton's face wore the same
pale, hopeless expression.

No one spoke. Supplications and prayers would alike be useless. The
Arab's stern, pitiless countenance spoke plainer than words. Mercy was
an unknown word in his vocabulary.

"Spare us, spare us!" moaned Sir Arthur, coming forward a pace or two
and making as though he would fall on his knees.

"I have spoken," cried Makar harshly. "Words will avail ye nothi