And the sword leapt out of its sheath, as a flame
Breaks from the coals when the fire is stirred.
And Mr. King, with a "What's _your_ game?"
Faced the Tchircasse with the wild-beast eyes.
"Naow, what do you want?" said Mr. King.
Quoth the savage, in English, "The woman dies!"
"Waat," said the impostor, "you'll take your fling,
At least in the first case, along of a son
Of Columbia, daughter of Albion."
The Tchircasse moved to the side of the bed.
A distaff was leaning against the wall,
And Mr. King, with arms at length,
Gave it a swing, with all his strength,
And crashed it full at the villain's head,
And dropped him, pistols and daggers and all.
Then sword in hand, he raged through the door,
And there were three hundred savages more,
All hungry for murder, and loot, and worse!
Mr. King bore down with an oath and a curse,
Bore down on the chief with the slain man's sword
He saw at a glance the state of the case;
He knew without need of a single word
That the Turk had flown and the Russ was near,
And the Tchircasse held _his_ midday revel;
So he laid himself out to curse and swear,
And he raged like an eloquent devil.
They listen'd, in a mute surprise,
Amaz'd that any single man should dare
Harangue an armed crowd with such an air,
And such commanding anger in his eyes;
Till, thinking him at least an English lord,
The Tchircasse leader lower'd his sword,
Spoke a few words in his own tongue, and bow'd,
And slowly rode away with all his men.
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