no other
excuse to attack. Even though Blunt's announcement proved simply a ruse
to force his hand, he cared nothing now. He led Miss Sheldon back to a
clump of great trees, put a native by her, and handed her his own
pistol.

"Stay here, Miss," he commanded sharply. "I'll come for you when it's
safe. Don't move!"

Natalie took to her hiding place trembling, but not with fear. She had
seen and heard that which chilled her blood and filled her head with
redoubled doubts. But she had no time for considering those doubts;
Rolfe darted back to his men, divided them into two parties, and,
carefully assuring himself that the entire band of captors lay before
him, he sent Blunt around to an opposite point on the glade and awaited
the prearranged whistle.

Soon it came--a cleverly imitated boatswain's pipe for All Hands!--and
suddenly the moaning ceased, the guards sat up in swift alarm.

"Give 'em hell, bullies!" roared Rolfe, and in a flash the glade crashed
to the discharge of a dozen rifles. The first shots went astray, because
the boatswain's pipe brought the captors to their feet after the first
surprise; but a second discharge took heavy toll, and the three white
officers rallied back to back, shouting frenziedly to their men to
stand.

"Ay, they'll stand--stiff!" growled Bill Blunt, swinging his rifle
end-for-end and jamming the butt into the face of a panic-stricken
native seaman. A bullet from Rolfe passed through the head of the
leader, and out of a whizzing shower of lead from the _Barang's_ men
another white went down. Then the native guards broke and ran, flinging
guns away in their panic. The remaining officer, glaring around with
savage hate in his eyes, turned to run too, but before leaving the spot
he sprang over to Barry and placed his pistol to the prostrate skipper's
head.

Then from the forest rang another shot, echoed by a sobbing cry, and the
fellow pitched headlong across Barry, dead, his pistol exploding
harmlessly, his throat pouring out his life. And Bill Blunt, following
up that shot, came upon Natalie Sheldon, fainting on the edge of the
glade, a warm pistol gripped tightly in her rigid hand.

Rolfe and his men had gone immediately to the aid of the tortured
captives, and the two guides were despatched hotfoot after water. Then,
with willing hands busily washing pained bodies free from sticky sugar
and fiercely fighting ants, some distance removed from the spot where
other hands were set