"H'yemba, the smith, again! Damn him! H'yemba!" he muttered, in sudden anger strongly tinged with fear. The smith, in fact, was standing there a little to the left of him, huge and sinewed hands loosely clasped in front of him, face sinister, eyes glowing like two malevolent evil fires. Allan noted the defiant poise of the body, the vast breadth of the shoulders, the heavy hang of the arms, biceped like a gorilla's. For a minute the two men looked each other steadfastly in the eye, each measuring the other. Then suddenly the voice of Vreenya broke the tension. "O Kromno, we have spoken. Will you hear us?" Stern faced him, a strange sinking at his heart, almost as though the foreman of a jury stood before him to announce either freedom or sentence of death. But, holding himself in check, lest any sign of fear or nervousness betray him, he made answer: "I will hear you. Speak!" "We have listened to your words. We believe you speak truth. Yet--" "Yet _what?_ Out with it, man!" "Yet will we not compel any man to go. All shall be free--" "Thank God!" breathed Allan, with a mighty sigh. "--Free to stay or go, as they will. Our village is too full, even now. We have many children. It were well that some should make room for others. Those who dare, have our consent. Now, speak _you_ to the people, your people, O Kromno, and see who chooses the upper world with you!" Once more Allan turned toward the assemblage. But before he had found time to frame the first question in this unfamiliar speech, a disturbance somewhat to the left interrupted him. There came a jostling, a pushing, a sound of voices in amazement, anger, approbation, doubt. Into the clear space stepped H'yemba, the smith. His powerful right hand he raised on high. And boldly, in a loud voice, he cried: "Folk of the Merucaans, this cannot be!" CHAPTER XIII THE RAVISHED NEST "It cannot be? Who says it cannot be? _Who dares stand out and challenge me?_" "I, H'yemba, the man of iron and of flame!" Stern faced him, every nerve and fiber quivering with sudden passion. At realization that in the exact psychological moment when success lay almost in his hand, this surly brute might baffle him, he felt a wave of murderous hate. He realized that the dreaded catastrophe had indeed come to pass. Now his sole claim to chieftainship lay in his power to defend the title. Failure meant--death. "You?" he shouted, advancing on the smith. His opponent only leered and grimaced offensively. Then without even having vouchsafed an answer, he swung toward the elders. "I challenge!" he exclaimed. "I have the right of words!" Vreenya nodded, fingering his long white beard. "Speak on!" he answered. "Such is our ancient custom." "Oh, people," cried the smith, suddenly facing the throng, "will ye follow one who breaks the tribal manners of our folk? One who disdains our law? Who has neglected to obey it? Will ye trust yourselves into hands stained with law-breaking of our blood?"