t of his horse?

This is something of a problem, and sitting down with his back against a
yellowwood-tree he proceeds to think it out. Shall he shoot the animal
and leave it there, for its return anywhere without its rider will, of
course, raise an alarm? Then an idea strikes him--rather an original
and ghastly one. The dead mamba? Its poison glands are intact. Can he
not by some means make the dead head bite the living animal? That would
look less suspicious than a bullet hole, in the event of the carcase
being found. But he doubts whether the venom will inject under the
circumstances. No. He must sacrifice the poor brute to his own sense
of self-preservation.

The two horses have withdrawn some little way, uneasy at the sound of
the firing. Now he lounges quietly towards them, and has no difficulty
in securing the bridle rein of both, trailing, as that is, upon the
grass. He hitches his own mount to a strong sapling and leads the other
to the river bank.

But this is not so easy. The horse, by some instinct, grasps that
something is wrong, and demurs to leaving its fellow. At last by dint
of patience and coolness it is induced to do so, and is led to an
overhanging bank similar to that whence its owner took his last plunge.
A quick shot. Four kicking hoofs turn convulsively upwards and the
lifeless carcase falls into the deep water with a great splash. The man
looks after it for a minute or two as it sinks.

"A pity, but necessary," he reflects. "Too much cannonading, though.
Sure to have been heard." Then he reseats himself on the grass and
lights his pipe.

"This is no murder," run his reflections. "The fool brought it upon
himself. He was given every chance." Then, as the long period of
blackmailing to which the dead man has subjected him comes back, he
feels ruthless. Yet the tragedy just enacted seems to have left its
mark. He has taken life--human life--and somehow the consideration
weighs; in spite of the feeling of relief at having rid himself, and the
world, of that most pestilent thing alive--a blackmailer. Should the
circumstances leak out he would have to stand his trial for murder--an
ugly word. But--how should they? This wild, lonely forest valley,
seldom visited even by natives, never by whites, would keep its own
secret. And nobody had seen them together.

As he sits there the whole situation seems to get upon his nerves,
high-strung as they are after the quick exciteme