They
understood what he meant; the last _Chef de Poste_ had shot himself in the
presence of the District Commissioner, and they had dug his grave.

"Here," said Adams, stopping and pointing to a spot at a convenient
distance from the walls.

When the body was buried, Adams stood for a second looking at the mound of
earth, wet and flattened down by blows of the spades.

He had no prayers to offer up. Meeus would have to go before his Maker
just as he was, and explain things--explain all that business away there
at the Silent Pools and other things as well. Prayers over his tomb or
flowers on it would not help that explanation one little bit.

Then Adams turned away and the soldiers trooped after him.

He had looked into the office and seen the rifles and ammunition which
they had placed there out of the wet. A weak man would have locked the
office door and so have deprived the soldiers of their arms, but Adams was
not a weak man.

He led his followers to the office, handed them their arms, carefully
examining each rifle to see that it was clean and uninjured, drew them up
on a line, addressed them in some more unprintable language but in a
milder tone, dismissed them with a wave of his hand and returned to the
house.

As he left them the wretched creatures all gave a shout--a shout of
acclamation.

This was the man for them--very different from the pale-faced Meeus--this
was a man they felt who would lead them to more unspeakable butchery than
Meeus had ever done. Therefore they shouted, piled their arms in the
office and returned to the rebuilding of their huts with verve.

They were not physiognomists, these gentlemen.

Berselius awoke from sleep at noon, but he was so weak that he could
scarcely move his lips. Fortunately there were some goats at the fort, and
Adams fed him with goats' milk from a spoon, just as one feeds an infant.
Then the sick man fell asleep and the rain came down again--not in a
thunder shower this time, but steadily, mournfully, playing a tattoo on
the zinc roof of the veranda, filling the place with drizzling sounds,
dreary beyond expression. With the rain came gloom so deep that Adams had
to light the paraffin lamp. There were no books, no means of recreation,
nothing to read but the old official letters and the half-written report
which the dead man had left on the table before leaving earth to make his
report elsewhere. Adams having glanced at this, tore it in pieces, then he
sa