As he spake, there was blood on the spear of Mudara!"

There must be blood, and he laid his plans with what he considered the
very height of savage craft and ingenuity.

The father of Alf was a sturdy man and good one, but he had a weakness.
He was the chief supporter in the neighborhood of the itinerant
minister who exhorted throughout this portion of the country, and he
had imbibed, perhaps, too much of a fancy for hearing himself talk at
revival meetings, and for hearing himself in long prayers at home. His
petitions covered a great range of subjects, and he was regular in
their presentation. The family prayers before breakfast every morning
were serious matters to the boys from one point of view, and not as
serious as they should have been from another. Present, and kneeling
at chairs about the room, they always were on these occasions, for the
order was imperative, and the father's arm was strong, and above the
door hung a strap of no light weight, constituting as it had once done
that portion of a horse's harness known technically as the bellyband.
So the boys were always there, each at his particular chair, and Grant
Harlson, who had been present at these orisons many a time, knew
exactly where Alf's chair was, and the attitude he must occupy. It was
close beside an open window, and his back was always toward the
opening, this particular attitude having been dictated by the father in
the vain hope of making his buoyant offspring more attentive if their
gaze were diverted from things outside. And all these circumstances
the dreadful savage from the South Sea islands was considering with
care. They are very regular in their habits in the country, and he
knew just the moment when the morning devotions would begin--some
fifteen minutes before the breakfast hour. He knew about how long he
would be in traversing the distance between his own house and the scene