Thereon the other priests and the people seized the Bellower and made him fast.

Now they were engaged in heating an oven in which to put him to cook.

When it was ready they would eat him in honour of Oro.
"And serve him right too!" gasped Bickley, who, being stout, was not a good runner.

"Why can't he leave other people's gods alone instead of blowing them up with gunpowder ?" "Don't know," I answered.

"Hope we shall get there in time!" "To be cooked and eaten with Bastin!" wheezed Bickley, after which his breath gave out.
As it chanced we did, for these stone ovens take a long time to heat.
There by the edge of his fiery grave with his hands and legs bound in palm-fibre shackles, stood Bastin, quite unmoved, smiling indeed, in a sort of seraphic way which irritated us both extremely.