erly direction, toward
the point where she believed the plains of Waziri lay, and though she
knew that only ruin and desolation marked the spot where once her happy
home had stood, she hoped that by coming to the broad plain she might
eventually reach one of the numerous Waziri villages that were
scattered over the surrounding country, or chance upon a roving band of
these indefatigable huntsmen.

The day was half spent when there broke unexpectedly upon her startled
ears the sound of a rifle shot not far ahead of her. As she paused to
listen, this first shot was followed by another and another and
another. What could it mean? The first explanation which sprung to
her mind attributed the firing to an encounter between the Arab raiders
and a party of Waziri; but as she did not know upon which side victory
might rest, or whether she were behind friend or foe, she dared not
advance nearer on the chance of revealing herself to an enemy.

After listening for several minutes she became convinced that no more
than two or three rifles were engaged in the fight, since nothing
approximating the sound of a volley reached her ears; but still she
hesitated to approach, and at last, determining to take no chance, she
climbed into the concealing foliage of a tree beside the trail she had
been following and there fearfully awaited whatever might reveal itself.

As the firing became less rapid she caught the sound of men's voices,
though she could distinguish no words, and at last the reports of the
guns ceased, and she heard two men calling to each other in loud tones.
Then there was a long silence which was finally broken by the stealthy
padding of footfalls on the trail ahead of her, and in another moment a
man appeared in view backing toward her, a rifle ready in his hands,
and his eyes directed in careful watchfulness along the way that he had
come.

Almost instantly Jane Clayton recognized the man as M. Jules Frecoult,
who so recently had been a guest in her home. She was upon the point
of calling to him in glad relief when she saw him leap quickly to one
side and hide himself in the thick verdure at the trail's side. It was
evident that he was being followed by an enemy, and so Jane Clayton
kept silent, lest she distract Frecoult's attention, or guide his foe
to his hiding place.

Scarcely had Frecoult hidden himself than the figure of a white-robed
Arab crept silently along the trail in pursuit. From her hiding place