His people, half-mad with excitement and debauch, needed only a cry
from him to have closed like magic round these insolent intruders.
His thick lips were parted, his breath came hot and fierce whilst he
hesitated. But away outside the clearing was that little army of
Hausas, clean-limbed, faithful, well drilled and armed. He choked
down his wrath. There were grim stories about those who had yielded
to the luxury of slaying these white men - stories of villages razed
to the ground and destroyed, of a King himself who had been shot, of
vengeance very swift and very merciless. He closed his mouth with
a snap and sat up with drunken dignity. Oom Sam, in fear and
trembling, moved to his side.
"What they want?" the King asked.
Oom Sam spread out the document which Trent had handed him upon a
tree-stump, and explained. His Majesty nodded more affably. The
document reminded him of the pleasant fact that there were three
casks of rum to come to him every year. Besides, he rather liked
scratching his royal mark upon the smooth, white paper. He was
quite willing to repeat the performance, and took up the pen which
Sam handed him readily.
"Him white man just come," Oom Sam explained; "want see you do this."
His Majesty was flattered, and, with the air of one to whom the
signing of treaties and concessions is an everyday affair, affixed
a thick, black cross upon the spot indicated.
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