s ready.

"Quick, quick, damn it!" shouted Denham. Stride hesitated no longer,
and the horse with its double burden started off after the rest.

The roar of the war-shout was right in their ears now. They had just
regained their comrades when something seemed to strike Denham with a
debilitating numbness, followed by a spasm of the most intense agony.
His hold relaxed. He was conscious of a roaring inside his head, and
out of it. The whole world seemed to be whirling round with him.

Rescuers and rescued reached the column just in time, just as another
fierce attack was delivered. But again that well-directed volley was
available, and the assailants dropped back. Moreover, the bush ended
here, and in the face of that determined repulse the savages had no
stomach for trying their luck in the open. The troop moved on
unmolested.

Then was heard a voice, a clear, woman's voice, audible in the still
night to every man in the whole escort.

"Where is Mr Denham?"

A thrill of instinctive consternation ran through all who heard.
Denham's name was called up and down the line of march, but with no
result. In the confusion attendant on the last close attack on the
rescue party nobody had seen anybody. It had been very much a case of
every man for himself. Some one, however, had seen Denham mount Stride
behind him on his horse. And then Stride himself came forward.

"You left him," said Verna, her pale face and gleaming eyes looking
dreadful in the brilliant starlight. "He saved you, and you left him.
You coward!"

"So help me, God, I didn't!" objected Stride vehemently. "I don't
really know what happened. I'll go back this moment and look for him.
Any one go with me?" looking around somewhat vacantly. "Then I'll go
alone." Then he swayed and tottered, pulled himself together, then
subsided on the ground, in total unconsciousness.

"He's hit, himself," said one of the police who were bending over the
wounded man. "Rather. He's got it bang through the chest."

Verna looked at the fallen man, and her bitter resentment left her, but
not her grief.

"I am going back to look for him," she said. "Who'll volunteer?"

"You shan't go," said her father decisively; "but I will. How many men
can you spare me, Bray?"

Inspector Bray was not pleased. Here he had brought off this expedition
with success, even with brilliancy, and now the kudos he would gain
would be utterly marred. For to allow any of his me