He thirsted for Tomaso"s blood.
Yet he dared not indulge in his brutal pa.s.sion.
Therefore, making a virtue of the necessity, he lowered his sword, and spurning his beaten adversary with his foot, bade him rise.
"Then take your life unasked," he said coa.r.s.ely, "and in future learn to know and to respect your superiors."
Toro"s speech was received with cheers by the brigands.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE NEW CAPTAIN-HUNSTON"S TROUBLE-THE ARM AND ITS LEGEND-HOW EMMERSON"S VENGEANCE WORKS STEALTHILY ON.
"What do you say, men, now?" demanded the huge Italian, as he wiped his sword.
"Huzza for Toro!"
"Have I fairly earned my right to take the lead here?"
"Yes, yes."
"I want you to be unanimous," he persisted.
"We are."
Toro fixed his eyes upon one or two of the disappointed supporters of Tomaso, who had not uttered a word since the discomfiture of their champion, and said to them especially--
"If any of you object to me as a leader, let them come forward now and speak up."
There were one or two murmuring voices.
"Look," cried the giant Toro, "men all, if any here still denies my power, let them step forward, and this sword shall prove my right."
This was final.
After the manner in which Toro had just dealt with their friend Tomaso, they were not encouraged to provoke a quarrel. And so, by his daring audacity and brute strength, Toro the Italian raised himself to the leadership of the Greek brigands.
None dared to dispute his sway from that moment.
Some had a difficulty to swallow the bitter pill, but the alternative was so very unpleasant that they got over it.
And Harkaway"s enemy Hunston?
Why has he fallen so into the background of late?
His sole thoughts have been engrossed by the fearful sufferings to which he is subject.
That dreadful arm--the legacy of vengeance of the murdered Emmerson.
Where the evil was it baffled all his skill to discover.
Slowly yet surely this horrible piece of mechanism was eating away its wearer"s life.
"It seems almost as though some subtle poison were slowly injected into my body through this arm," thought Hunston, "and yet I can not work without it."
Never was vengeance more terrible than that of the dead Robert Emmerson.
The wonder was that Hunston lived through it.
His const.i.tution must have been of iron.
The arm was removed, but only with infinite trouble and suffering; and then, after some considerable time, Hunston began to experience a faint sense of relief.
The sufferings slowly diminished.
This convinced Hunston that he had been correct in supposing that the poison was concealed in the mechanical arm.
He laid bare as much of it as he could without permanently damaging it, and pored over it for hours at a stretch.
To what good?
None.
Now this limb was the work of no common artificer.
It was the work of a hand of rare cunning.
A master spirit had invented it, and its mystery was far too deep to be penetrated by a common bungler.
Hunston was at last so tortured that, disguising himself, he one day left the mountains, and sought the advice of a surgeon.
"The man who planned this arm," said the surgeon to whom Hunston submitted it for examination, "must have devoted a lifetime to the manufacture and perfecting of this mechanical limb."
Hunston smiled.
He knew too well how little time the wretched man Emmerson gave to any thing like industrial pursuits.
"What is this?" asked this same surgeon, pointing to the flat of the arm, where the engraved legend was almost obscured with a dark stain.
Hunston changed colour and fidgeted about.
"I don"t know."