rocodiles suggested haste. But
thank Heaven they never appeared to complicate matters. Now I was quite
near the cave, and now I was beneath the overhanging roof and in the
shallow water of the little bay that formed a harbour for the canoe. I
stood upon my feet on the rock bottom, the water coming up to my breast,
and peered about me, while I rested and worked my left arm, stiff with
the up-holding of the gun, to and fro. The fires had burnt somewhat low
and until my eyes were freed from the raindrops and grew accustomed to
the light of the place I could not see clearly.

I took the rag from round the lock of the rifle, wiped the wet off the
barrel with it and let it fall. Then I loosed the catch and by touching
a certain mechanism, made the rifle hair-triggered. Now I looked again
and began to make out things. There was the platform and there, alas! on
it sat the toad-like Motombo. But his back was to me; he was gazing
not towards the water, but down the cave. I hesitated for one fateful
moment. Perhaps the priest was asleep, perhaps I could get the canoe
away without shooting. I did not like the job; moreover, his head was
held forward and invisible, and how was I to make certain of killing him
with a shot in the back? Lastly, if possible, I wished to avoid firing
because of the report.

At that instant the Motombo wheeled round. Some instinct must have
warned him of my presence, for the silence was gravelike save for the
soft splash of the rain without. As he turned the lightning blazed and
he saw me.

"It is the white man," he muttered to himself in his hissing whisper,
while I waited through the following darkness with the rifle at my
shoulder, "the white man who shot me long, long ago, and again he has a
gun! Oh! Fate stabs, doubtless the god is dead and I too must die!"

Then as if some doubt struck him he lifted the horn to summon help.

Again the lightning flashed and was accompanied by a fearful crack of
thunder. With a prayer for skill, I covered his head and fired by the
glare of it just as the trumpet touched his lips. It fell from his hand.
He seemed to shrink together, and moved no more.

Oh! thank God, thank God! in this supreme moment of trial the art of
which I am a master had not failed me. If my hand had shaken ever so
little, if my nerves, strained to breaking point, had played me false
in the least degree, if the rag from Hans's hat had not sufficed to keep
away the damp from the cap and powd