much was certain. But his guard was
single-handed. He began to consider the possibility of overpowering him.
He had no weapon, but he was a practised wrestler; and they were so far
removed from the yelling crowd about the fire that a scuffle in that
dark corner was little likely to attract attention.

It was fairly obvious to him why he had been rescued from the fire.
Doubtless his gigantic struggles had been observed by the onlooker, and
he was considered too good a man to burn. They would keep him for a
slave, possibly mutilate him first.

Again, stealthily, he investigated the position round that corner of
rock. The man's back was turned towards him. He seemed to be watching
the doings of the distant tribesmen. Herne freed himself from his ragged
garment, and crept nearer. His enemy was of no great stature. In fact,
he was the smallest Wandi that he had yet seen. He questioned with
himself if he could be full grown.

Now or never was his chance, though a slender one at that, even if he
escaped immediate detection. He gathered himself together, and sprang
upon his unsuspecting foe.

He aimed at the native weapon, knowing the dexterity with which this
could be shortened and brought into action, but it was wrenched from him
before he could securely grasp it.

The man wriggled round like an eel, and in a moment the point was at his
throat. Herne flung up a defending arm, and took it through his flesh.
He knew in an instant that he was outmatched. His previous struggles had
weakened him, and his adversary, if slight, had the activity of a
serpent.

For a few breathless seconds they swayed and fought, then again Herne
was conscious of that deadly point piercing his shoulder. With a sharp
exclamation, he shifted his ground, trod on a loose stone, and sprawled
headlong backward.

He fell heavily, so heavily that all the breath was knocked out of his
body, and he could only lie, gasping and helpless, expecting death. His
enemy was upon him instantly, and he marvelled at the man's strength.
Sinewy hands encompassed his wrists, forcing his arms above his head. In
the darkness he could not see his face, though it was close to his own,
so close that he could feel his breathing, quick and hard, and knew that
it had been no light matter to master him.

He himself had wholly ceased to fight. He was bleeding freely from the
shoulder, and a dizzy sense of powerlessness held him passive, awaiting
his deathblow.

But still h