g to do it? I'll count five."

But hardly has he begun to do so than the situation changes. The man on
the river brink suddenly puts his hand behind him, ducking low as he
does so, to avoid the shot that simultaneously whizzes over where his
chest had been a fraction of a second earlier. A revolver glints in his
hand, but he is not quick enough. Before he can get in a shot the other
pistol cracks again, this time with effect. He topples heavily into the
water.

Yet he is struggling for his chance of life, but a glance is sufficient
to show that he can hardly swim a stroke even if unwounded--which he is
not. The other points his pistol for a final and decisive shot. But
there is something in the wild appealing scream of the drowning wretch
that unnerves him, that shatters his callous desperation. And then--the
crocodiles.

"Make for this stump," he shouts, running down the bank. "I'll give you
a hand out. Now I'm going to fire over your head."

There is nothing now to fire at. The two motionless objects have
disappeared, nevertheless he sends a bullet into the water at the place
where they had been.

Splashing, kicking, panting, the drowning man makes for the stump
indicated. In a moment he will have seized it and the other is running
down to help him. A yard further and he will be safe. His hand is
already stretched forth to grasp it, when--with a frightful scream of
agony and terror he disappears beneath the surface.

The survivor stands on the bank appalled.

"The `crocs' have got him, by God!" he exclaims. A moment back and he
himself was ready to take this man's life--for all he knew he had taken
it. But the final method of his death is so revolting, so ghastly that
he could wish him safe back again. Well, at any rate he had done what
he could to save him. It was not his fault if the fool chose to topple
into the river. Yet, but for his own compulsion the said "fool" would
not have been standing where he was.

He stands gazing down the reach. Is that blood, floating in a dark
patch upon the surface lower down? No. Only the light and shade. And
now, what to do next?

If the body should be found the bullet wound would tell its own tale.
Even then the natives, already in a state of unrest, would be credited
with another outrage. But if, as he surmised, the dead man had been
pulled under by crocodiles, why then there would be little enough left
of him to tell any tale at all. But--wha