most of them
carry loads. Some few do not, and of such are the two who have been
conversing.

"But," rejoins the Arab, "it may be written that when we arrive there we
shall find no village. Mushad's people have been busy of late, and this
village lies in his return path."

"I don't care whether we find any village or not, so long as we find the
water," is the reply. "What do you say, doctor?"--relapsing into
Anglo-Saxon, as he turns to another man, the only other white man of the
party.

"Why, that it's time we did find some. This swamp water is awful bad
drinking stuff."

Under the broad moon it is almost as light as day, and as this strange
band emerges into an open space its concomitant elements can be seen to
advantage. The man who had first spoken, and who seems to be its
leader, is tall, supple, and erect, with straight, regular features; the
lower part of the bronzed face is hidden by a thick brown beard, not
guiltless even here in these wilds of some attempt at trimming. This,
together with his alert and weather-beaten appearance, gives him a much
older look than his actual years, for he is quite a young man. The
other, he addressed as "doctor," and whose speech is dashed with just a
touch of the brogue, is much older. He is a man of medium height, with
a quiet refined face, and his hair is just turning grey. Both are armed
with a double-barrelled express rifle, revolver of heavy calibre, and
sheath knife. The Arab, Somala, and a few others are also armed with
Martini rifles; but the bearers of the loads, who are composed of half a
dozen nationalities, carry no firearms, though each has a sheath knife
of some sort strapped round him--long or short, straight or curved or
double-edged, but all wicked-looking weapons enough.

The line swings along at an even, wiry-paced walk, to the croon of some
wild, weird melody. Then, as, the open space passed, they re-enter the
forest shade, they stop short, the whole line telescoping together--
loads colliding, and men falling with them in confusion. For, from the
sombre, mysterious depths in front comes a most horrible and appalling
sound.

A scream, so awful in its long-drawn intensity--so fraught with terror
and energy and despair--surely such a cry could never have issued from a
human throat. Louder and louder it peals through the grim midnight
shades, as though some unknown and gigantic monster were in the last
throes of a despairing struggle with co