rm as he worked, and the Frenchman's face showed like a waxen mask
on the ground. Blood was running from a deep cut on his cheek.

"I save yo' life, Jone," he gasped.

"Shut up!" snapped one of the men, and struck him on the mouth.

"Here," protested Mills; "go slow, can't you, There's no call to bang
him about."

They stared at him with astonishment. "Why, man," exclaimed Charley,
"didn't we tell you he shot a woman?"

"What's that he said about savin' your life?" demanded Dave.

"He did," explained Mills. He told them the story, and they listened
without sympathy.

"It was a bloomin' plucky thing to do," concluded the trader. "I'd
ha' bin dead by now but for him, and I owe 'im one for it."

"Oh, nobody's sayin' he isn't plucky," said the man who had 'been
tying the Frenchman's arms, as he rose to his feet. "He's the dare-
devillist swine alive, but he's done with it now."

Dave came round and clapped Mills on the shoulder.

"It's worked you a bit soft, old man," he said. "Why, hang it all,
you wouldn't have us let him go after shooting a woman, would you?"

"Oh! stow it," broke in one of the others. "If it wasn't that 'e's
got to go back to Macequece to be shot, I'd blow his head off now."

"I'm not asking you to let him go," cried Mills. "But give the bloke
a chance, give 'im a run for it. Why, I wouldn't kill a dog so; it's
awful--an'--an'--he saved my life, chaps; he saved my life."

"But he shot a woman," said Charley.

That closed the case--the man had committed the ultimate crime.
Nothing could avail him now. He had shot a woman--he must suffer.

"Jone," moaned the Frenchman--the cords were eating into his flesh--
"Jone, I saved yo' life."

"Why couldn't you tell me?" cried Mills passionately; "why couldn't
you trust me? I could ha' got you away."

"That'll do," interrupted Dave, thrusting Mills aside. "We'll trouble
you for a drink and a bite, old boy, an' then we'll start back."

Mills led the way to the skoff kia in silence. There was food and
drink still on the table, and the men sat down to it at once. The
Frenchman lay in the middle of the kraal, bound; his captors' weapons
lay at their feet. He was as effectually a prisoner as if their five
barrels were covering him. Mills stood moodily watching the men eat,
his brain drumming on the anguished problem of the Frenchman's life
or death without effort or volition on his part.

"Got any more poosa, old boy?" asked Dave, setting down the