is not with any purpose he approaches them. He only does so because
they are in the line of his route. But before reaching the spot where
they are assembled, he sees something to excite his curiosity, at the
same time, baffling all conjecture what it can be. On his coming
closer, the jackals scatter apart, exposing it to view; then, loping
off, leave it behind them. Whatever it be, it is evidently the lure
that has brought the predatory beasts together. It is not the dead body
of deer, antelope, or animal of any kind; but a thing of rounded shape,
set upon a short shank, or stem.

"What the devil is it?" he asks himself, first pausing, and then
spurring on towards it. "Looks lor all the world like a man's head!"

At that moment, the moon emitting one of her brightest beams, shows the
object still clearer, causing him to add in exclamation, "By heavens, it
is a head!"

Another instant and he sees a face, which sends the blood back to his
heart, almost freezing it in his veins.

Horror stricken he reins up, dragging his horse upon the haunches; and
in this attitude remains, his eyes rolling as though they would start
from their sockets. Then, shouting the words, "Great God, Clancy!"
followed by a wild shriek, he wrenches the horse around, and
mechanically spurs into desperate speed.

In his headlong flight he hears a cry, which comes as from out the
earth--his own name pronounced, and after it, the word "murderer!"

CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT.

HOURS OF AGONY.

Out of the earth literally arose that cry, so affrighting Richard Darke;
since it came from Charles Clancy. Throughout the live-long day, on to
the mid hours of night, has he been enduring agony unspeakable.

Alone with but the companionship of hostile creatures--wolves that
threaten to gnaw the skin from his skull, and vultures ready to tear his
eyes out of their sockets.

Why has he not gone mad?

There are moments when it comes too near this, when his reason is
well-nigh unseated. But manfully he struggles against it; thoughtfully,
with reliance on Him, whose name he has repeated and prayerfully
invoked. And God, in His mercy, sends something to sustain him--a
remembrance. In his most despairing hour he recalls one circumstance
seeming favourable, and which in the confusion of thought, consequent on
such a succession of scenes, had escaped him. He now remembers the
other man found along with Darke under the live-oak. Bosley will be
abl