RMAN]

"Kill him, kill him!" shouted the mob once more, urging on the
executioner, who, his superstitious nature not having overcome the
ill-omened fact that the matchlock a moment before had jumped out of his
hand (which he probably attributed to the doing of some supreme power and
not to the over-charge), 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 up into a passion. His face became quite
unrecognisable, such was his excitement, and he behaved like a madman.

At this point a Lama approached and slipped something into the mouth of
the executioner, who again foamed at the lips. A Lama held his sword,
while he turned up one sleeve of his coat to have his arms free, and the
Lamas turned up the other for him. Then he strode towards me with slow,
ponderous steps, swinging the shiny sharp blade from side to side before
him, 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 erect and my forehead high. They might kill me, true
enough, they might hack me to pieces if they chose, but never until I had
lost my last atom of strength would these ruffians make me stoop before
them. I would perish, but it should be looking down upon the Pombo and
his countrymen.

[Illustration: THE EXECUTIONER BROUGHT THE SWORD DOWN TO MY NECK]

The executioner, now close to me, held the sword with his nervous hands,
lifting it high above his shoulder. He then brought it down to my neck,
which he touched with the blade, to measure the distance, as it were, for
a clean effective stroke. Then, drawing back a step, he quickly raised
the sword again and struck a blow at me with all his might. The sword
passed disagreeably close to my neck under my chin, but did not touch
me. I would not flinch, nor speak, and my demeanour seemed to impress him
almost to the point of frightening him. He became reluctant to continue
his diabolical performance; but the impatience and turbulence of the
crowd were at their highest, and the Lamas nearer to him gesticulated
like madmen and urged him on again.

As I wr