en thought surges through his
brain which causes a shade of paleness to sweep over his firm, bronzed
countenance. What if this were but a scheme to get him into their power?
What if he were not suffered to die fighting, to fall into their hands
alive? Why, then, his fate was certain--certain and inexpressibly
horrible. He would be butchered like a calf--butchered and eaten--by
these repulsive wretches. Such would be his end. Now, however, to make
the best of the situation!

But little can he make of their tongue. Then he tries them in Swahili.
Ah! several of them have a smattering of that. They have come to his aid
at a critical moment, he puts it--he is willing therefore to call them
friends. Yet it was a pity they had. He had already killed two of his
assailants and was prepared to kill them all, one after another. It was
only a question of time. After all, if anything, the new arrivals had
rather spoiled his sport.

These stared. The tone was one of patronage, of condescension. This
white man was but one; he was alone, and in their power, yet he spoke to
them as a great chief might speak. Yet, was he but one? Was he alone or
were many others not far off? Perceptibly their own replies took on a
respectful air.

The while, Laurence kept every sense on the alert, indeed even to its
uttermost tension. Was this parley designed to keep him preoccupied
while others stole up treacherously to strike him down from behind? To
guard against this idea he stepped boldly forth from the tree-fern and
advanced towards the half-threatening crowd.

"Where are those we have slain?" he said. "Let us examine them."

"Yonder," answered some in a wandering tone, while others on the
outskirts of the crowd scowled and muttered.

Leisurely, and now moving actually among these people, did Laurence fare
forth to look upon the bodies of his late assailants. The thoroughly
bold and fearless line he had adopted had told, as he was all but sure
it would. These wild barbarians, armed to the teeth, had only to stretch
forth a hand and slay him, yet somehow they refrained.

The slain warriors were lying as they fell, and even in death Laurence
could not but admire their noble proportions, and the set and martial
expression of their countenances. Six lay dead, while another, sorely
wounded, was promptly beheaded by the new arrivals. These, their savage
instincts all afire, set to work to hack the heads off each corpse;
then, tying grass ropes ar