“We are ready for them,” shouted the young warriors.

“Ye know—­yes; but thus says my medicine—­that you are not agreed among yourselves.”

“Er—­hum!”

The hunter paused, and his strange eyes dwelt on the faces of the old men so that they looked away.

“There are some among you who would make terms with the enemy.  There were some who had sent secret word to Hassan.  Go ye a little way up the slope and ye will see the bodies of some of those slain in their treachery!”

“Wow!” The older men exchanged uneasy glances, and a woman’s voice rang out exultingly, “Ye speak the truth, O lion.”

“Thus says my medicine.  If ye do not stand together, the enemy will enter at the gates, and not one will be left alive, for Hassan will slay those whose hearts were with him as he will those who were against him.”

One of the older warriors interrupted, shooting a finger at Muata.

“Great one, give us the word that we may slay this dog who comes to make trouble.  Is this the counsel of a wise man on the coming of the enemy?”

“What would you do with him?” asked Muata, suavely.

“Send him after those others;” and the man pointed up the hill.

“You stand alone in your words,” said the chief, doubtfully.

The spokesman, with a look of fierce triumph, looked around.

“These also I speak for.”

“Haw!” said the chief, slowly, running his eye over the old men.  “All men of wisdom!  Do ye all hold with these words?  Be not hasty.  Ye have heard the words of the white man.  Think well before ye speak.”

“How do we know that he is not Hassan’s man?” said the first spokesman, fiercely.  “He was summoned to the council when the sun was young, and he has only now come.  Who vouches for him?”

“I—­Muata, the chief.  Yet Muata does not give face to him or to you.  Ye have heard both sides.  Think well and decide quickly, for the day is passing, and we must be at the gates this night.  First let me know”—­and the chief’s voice was very mild—­“do we agree in resisting Hassan, or is it that we differ about the white men?”

“We will fight against Hassan,” said the spokesman, quickly; “but this white man has spoken evil words.  We know him not; and if thus early he begins to make mischief, what will happen when the fight is fierce?  Stand by me, friends, so that the chief may see our mind.”

“Nay,” said an older man, who had been watching the chiefs face—­ “nay, let us talk the matter over.”

But it was too late, and the spokesman stepped aside, drawing with him a score of men.

“Is that all?” asked the chief, quietly, and his eyes ran keenly over the faces of the other warriors.  “I will consider, for it is well that we should have no differences.”

“Hark to the wisdom!” shouted the warriors.

“We must stand together,” continued Muata, “or we fall.  And I am glad of this thing; it has shown our weakness.”  He stood a moment, then, with a sudden glance back at his young men, he bounded forward, and with one stroke of his terrible knife struck the leader of the band to the ground.  “Hold!” he roared, as the young men, with a terrific shout, sprang forward.  “Let a man move but a hand, and he is dead.”