"I think," said Jamison composedly, "I take a hand now. I'll pick him up, Bell.... Right. I've got him. With a grenade hanging down his back. If he jerks away from me, or I from him, it will blow his spine to bits." "Hold him so," said Bell coldly. * * * * * He went coolly to where he could look over the heap of the collapsed wall. He saw a bundle of torn clothing that had been a man. It was flung against a cracked and tottering chimney. "Right," he said evenly. "Ribiera's dead, all right." He turned to the deputies, whose revolvers were still in their hands. "The Master's carriage, please," he said politely. "To the door. You may accompany us if you please, but in other carriages. I am working for the release of all the Master's slaves, and you among them if you choose. But you can see very easily that there is no hope of the release of The Master without the meeting of my terms." The Master spoke, softly and mildly and without fear. "It is my order that the Senor Bell is to be obeyed. I shall return. You need have no fear of my death. My carriage." A man went stiffly, half-paralyzed with terror, to where chattering scared servants were grouped in the awful fear that came upon the slaves of The Master at any threat to his rule. But Bell and Paula and Jamison went slowly and cautiously--though they held the whip hand--to the entrance door of the house, and out to the entrance gate. A carriage was already before the door when they reached it, and others were drawing up in a line behind it. "Get in," said Bell briefly. "Down to the waterfront." He turned to the group of frock-coated, stricken men who had followed. "Some of you men," he said coldly, "had better go on ahead and warn the police and the public generally about the certainty of The Master's death if any attempt is made to rescue him." Francia, of Paraguay, summoned a swagger and raised his hand to the second carriage. It drew in to the curb. "I will attend to it, Senor Bell," he said politely. "Ah, when I think that I once raised my revolver to shoot you and refrained!" He drove off swiftly. * * * * * Bell's eyes were glowing. He got into the carriage, and such a procession drove through the streets of Punta Arenas as has rarely moved through the streets of any city in the world. The long line of carriages moved at a funereal pace amid a surging, terrified mob. The Master beamed placidly as he looked out over white, starkly agonized faces. Some of the people groaned audibly. A few cursed The Master in their despair. More cursed Bell, not daring to strike or fire on him. But he would have been torn to bits if he had stepped from the carriage for an instant. "Bell," said Jamison dryly, "considering that I'm prepared to be blown apart on three seconds notice, it is peculiar that this mob frightens me." The Master's eyes twinkled benignly. He seemed totally insensible to fear.