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Updated: May 5, 2025
How are your nerves, Stanninghame?" "Hard hard as nails now. That's not to say they have been always." "Quite so. Ever seen a man's head cut off?" "Two." "So? Where was that?" said Hazon, ever so faintly surprised at receiving an affirmative reply. "In Paris. A press friend of mine had to go and see two fellows guillotined, and managed to work me in with him.
For the moment it seems as though the Ba-gcatya were fighting with each other, striving to hew their way through their own ranks in their endeavours to escape beyond the reach of that awful and destructive fire. "Give it to them again!" growls Hazon, a lurid gleam in his deep-set, piercing eyes. "But, aim low aim low!" Again not a shot is thrown away.
The main body of the slave-hunters had emerged from the scrub, and had quietly surrounded the village. Laurence was satisfied. He had gained time so far, and with it his object. "What astonishing freak is this, Stanninghame?" said Hazon, who, having taken in the situation at a glance, was promptly at his colleague's side, displaying, too, the piece of pencilled board.
The nature of his business, too, was no more open than was his past history. He had been some months in his present quarters, yet was not known to be doing anything in scrip to any appreciable extent. The boom, the one engrossing idea in the minds of all alike, seemed to hold no fascination for Hazon. To him it was a matter of absolutely no importance. What the deuce, then, was he there for?
"Your discontent was needless," cried Hazon, after a minute or two of such conference, turning to his rebellious followers, the whole body of whom had now paused to learn what tidings these had brought. "Your discontent comes a day too late. Those whom we spared have even now been eaten up, and their village given over to the flames."
Laurence did not start at the voice, which was that of Hazon, whose shadow darkened the door. The up-country man at that moment especially noticed that he did not. "Dare say you're right, Hazon," was the reply. "That's it, come in," which the other had already done. "Talking out loud, was I? It's a d bad habit, and grows on one." "It does.
Half turning his head at this interruption, there was that look upon the hawk-like features of the Arab which at times so strangely resembled Hazon. His keen eyes darted haughty reproof at Holmes, for he was a sort of supercargo of the slave department, and relished not this interference. Then, turning back, he once more gave the signal. Down flashed the great blade.
"But what's the object of the trip, Hazon? Gold?" "No." "Stones?" "Not stones." "Ivory, then?" "That's it; ivory," and a gleam of saturnine mirth shot across the other's dark features. "You have to go a good way up for that now, don't you, Hazon?" "Yes, a good way up. And it's contraband." "The devil it is!" Hazon nodded. Then he went to the door and looked out. "Leave it open. It's better so.
"I don't in the least mind smoke, although I can't blow off a cloud myself just now at least I have no inclination that way," he added, reaching for a bottle of white powder which stood upon a box by the bedside, and mixing himself a modicum of quinine. "Had a doctor of any sort, Hazon?" "What good would that do except to the doctor?
"That's sound sense everywhere," rejoined Hazon. "You can't get Holmes here to see it, though. He's wearing out his soul-case wanting to break away." This was no more than the truth.
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