y felt his way to the next pair of sentries. "I'd have a shot at
it if I were told off for it, of course, but this darkness seems to
have weight--to press upon a fellow's eyes. S'pose it'll end in having
to send out parties to bring the fellow in."

Truth to tell, Wilmshurst was not particularly keen on his brother's
chum. Why, he could hardly explain. It might have had something to do
with MacGregor's conduct when the lioness charged. But since then the
Rhodesian had shown considerable pluck and grit, and his voluntary
offer to plunge into the bush on a pitch dark night was a great factor
in his favour, in Dudley's opinion.

The subaltern's soliloquy was cut short by the dull glint of steel
within a few inches of his chest--even in the darkness all bayonets
seem to possess self-contained luminosity--and a voice hissed, "Who
come?"

Reassuring the sentries--there were two at each post--Wilmshurst
received the report that everything was all correct.

"Macgreg, him go," declared one of the Haussas, Macgreg being the name
by which the Rhodesian was known to the black troops.

Wilmshurst was astonished. He had heard nothing of the scout's
movements, yet the sentry, fifty yards away, had declared quite blandly
that MacGregor had passed the outlying post.

"How do you know that, Brass Pot?" asked the subaltern.

The Haussa chuckled audibly, and holding his rifle obliquely with the
bayonet thrust into the ground, placed his ear to the butt.

"Macgreg him go and go," he answered, meaning that the Rhodesian was
still on the move.

In vain Wilmshurst tested the sound-conducting properties of the rifle.
Normally of good hearing he failed to detect what to Private Brass Pot
was an accepted and irrefutable fact.

"Very good," said the subaltern, without admitting his failure. "If
you hear foot of Macgreg come this way before sergeant come for reliefs
then you send and tell me. Savvy?"

"Berry good, sah," replied the Haussa.

Having twice visited the sentries Wilmshurst returned to the bivouac to
snatch a few hours' sleep. It seemed as if he had only just dozed off
when he was awakened by Sergeant Beta Moshi, who informed him that the
men were already standing to and that the brief tropical dawn was
stealing across the sky.

"Has Macgreg returned, Bela Moshi?" asked Wilmshurst, stretching his
cramped limbs, for he had not removed his boots during the last
forty-eight hours, and with the exception of a brief i