he carriers with that mixture of light badinage and heavy
swearing which composed his method of dealing with the natives.

Three days after the arrival of the rescuing force at the Plateau, Guy
Oscard had organised a retreating party, commanded by Joseph, to convey
Jack Meredith down to the coast. He knew enough of medicine to recognise
the fact that this was no passing indisposition, but a thorough
breakdown in health. The work and anxiety of the last year, added to the
strange disquieting breath of the Simiacine grove, had brought about
a serious collapse in the system which only months of rest and freedom
from care could repair.

Before the retreating column was ready to march it was discovered that
the hostile tribes had finally evacuated the country; which deliverance
was brought about not by Oscard's blood-stained track through the
forest, not by the desperate defence of the Plateau, but by the whisper
that Victor Durnovo was with them. Truly a man's reputation is a strange
thing.

And this man--the mighty warrior whose name was as good as an army
in Central Africa--went down on his knees one night to Guy Oscard,
imploring him to abandon the Simiacine Plateau, or at all events to
allow him to go down to Loango with Meredith and Joseph.

"No," said Oscard; "Meredith held this place for us when he could have
left it safely. He has held it for a year. It is our turn now. We will
hold it for him. I am going to stay, and you have to stay with me."

For Jack Meredith, life was at this time nothing but a constant,
never-ceasing fatigue. When Oscard helped him into the rough litter
they had constructed for his comfort, he laid his head on the pillow,
overcome with a dead sleep.

"Good-bye, old chap," said Oscard, patting him on the shoulder.

"G'bye;" and Jack Meredith turned over on his side as if he were in bed,
drew up the blanket, and closed his eyes. He did not seem to know where
he was, and, what was worse, he did not seem to care. Oscard gave the
signal to the bearers, and the march began. There is something in the
spring of human muscles unlike any other motive power; the power of
thought may be felt even on the pole of a litter, and one thing that
modern invention can never equal is the comfort of being carried on the
human shoulder. The slow swinging movement came to be a part of Jack
Meredith's life--indeed, life itself seemed to be nothing but a huge
journey thus peacefully accomplished. Through the fla