sprang forward, and, as the quivering body was
dragged away, these savages gave vent to their pent-up ferocity by
stabbing it again and again. Having tasted blood they rolled their eyes
around in search of further victims. But the remaining Wajalu had
withdrawn in terror: and well for all concerned that it was so,
otherwise the Wangoni, inspired by the example of their chief, would
certainly have commenced a massacre which even the prestige and
authority of Hazon and Laurence combined would have been powerless to
quell. But there was no one outside to begin upon, and, though a
truculent, unruly crowd, their interests in the long run lay in
submitting to the authority of the white chiefs.

So the Wajalu rejoiced much, if tremblingly, as the last of the dreaded
host disappeared. For good or for ill their village was spared--spared
to continue its most revolting forms of savagery and cannibalism and
parricide--spared for good or for ill in that it had entertained an
angel unawares in the person of that hard, pitiless, determined
slave-hunter, Laurence Stanninghame.

CHAPTER XVII.

DISSENSIONS.

"Well, I'm uncommonly glad I was out of that affair yesterday,
Stanninghame. But it isn't like you, letting those poor devils off, eh?"

Thus Holmes, as the two were leisurely pursuing their way, somewhat on
the rear flank of the slave-party.

"I don't know. You see they let me off, and I didn't want to be outdone
in civility even by a lot of scurvy dogs who eat each other. There was
no feeling about the matter."

Before the other could pursue the subject, the sound of faint groans,
and pleading in an unknown tongue, was heard just ahead. With it, too,
the sound of blows.

"Some devilish work going forward again," muttered Holmes, with savage
disgust.

"You can't make omelettes without breaking eggs," was the indifferent
reply. And then they came upon a not entirely unfamiliar scene.

On the ground crouched three human figures, wretched-looking and
emaciated to the last degree. Disease and exhaustion had overpowered
them, and they were begging to be left to die. Standing over them in
threatening attitude was Lutali, with some half-dozen of the slavers.

"They are too far gone to feel the whip," Lutali was saying. "Clearly
they are of no further use. You, Murad, shorten me the shadow of yonder
dog. We shall see."

The man named, a savage-looking ruffian, stepped forward, grinning with
delight. Just as he was s