s on the road, waiting to devour her
body and soul. She paces on with bent head, the hot blood in her
cheeks, and a lump in her throat.

A third shadow crosses her path, this time it is Big Tombo. Her eyes
meet his fearlessly. He bares his head, bows low, and Eleanor smiles
sadly.

"Men are kinder than women," she thinks, as she wanders on. "They
judge less harshly. When their companions sin they do not cast them
out to sink lower in the mire, they give them a hand, instead of a
kick! But women take upon themselves to dash their sisters with cruel
force upon the stones."

It was good to be alone with her sorrow, her shame.

She breathed a prayer from the depths of her soul--a wordless
invocation. She is close to the jungle now, and the pleasant shade of
the foliage cools her feverish brain.

She steps fearlessly into the thick undergrowth. Then pauses, for the
sound of a horse attracts her attention. It is the heavy tread of the
huge charger, on which that handsome white stranger, gun in hand, is
seeking prey.

Eleanor watches the flash of those wonderful eyes, there is something
unholy, devilish, in their unusual splendour. Her full red lips are
drawn in and compressed.

She raises her gun, and before Eleanor can cry out the woman has fired!

The bullet whizzes past her head, for a moment her heart stops beating,
the narrow escape fills her with horror!

She fancies the stranger saw her before she pulled the trigger, and let
off her gun out of sheer devilment, to show her accuracy.

But scarcely has she recovered from the fright when a second report is
heard from the bushes close by, and the great charger, on which this
reckless sportswoman is seated, falls dead beneath her. She rolls off
the saddle, and stands like a fury over the body.

"What villain has killed my horse?" she cries aloud, in a deep voice,
which even in its anger sounds strangely fascinating, despite the
masculine slang.

[Illustration: "What villain has killed my horse?"]

Eleanor rushes forward.

"The unseen hand!" she exclaims, hardly knowing what she says.

"How do you mean?" asks the tall woman.

"Someone shot from the bushes; didn't you see? First of all you nearly
hit me, it was the closest shave I ever had, and immediately your horse
fell----"

"I'll soon find out who has been making a target of me," muttered the
stranger.

So saying, she fires recklessly into the bushes, but there is no sound,
no cry.

E