He swung his long bony arms across his breast and turned his face skywards.

"Ye hear that, my children.

The free people, the Bada-Mawidi, of whose loins sprang Abraham the prophet, are the servants of some foreign dog in the north.

If ye were like your fathers, ye would have long ago ere this wiped out the taunt in blood." The man sat perfectly composed, save that his right hand had grasped a revolver.

He was playing a bold game, but he had played it before.