merely favoured him with a glance of inexpressible scorn.

"I know you talk English," he said, "good English too. So there's no use
trying to bluff me that you don't understand. What is your name, to
begin with?"

Still no answer but the curling lip.

"What's the idea of shooting at a policeman? Is it worth hanging for?"

She gave no sign.

He saw that it only gratified her to balk his curiosity, so he turned
away with a shrug. "If you won't talk, that's your affair."

He had thrown only light stuff on the fire, and he let it burn itself
out, having no mind to make of himself a shining mark for a bullet from
another quarter. He lit his pipe and sat debating what to do--or rather
struggling with his desire to set off instantly in search of Imbrie's
camp. Knowing it must be near, it was hard to be still. Yet better sense
told him he would be at a fatal disadvantage in the dark, particularly
as Imbrie must now be on the alert. There was no help for it. He must
wait for daylight.

He knew that above all he required sleep to fit him for his work next
day, and he determined to impose sleep on himself if will-power could do
it. As he rose to return to his tent a sullen voice from the direction
of the willow-bushes spoke up in English as good as his own:

"The mosquitoes are biting me."

"Ha!" said Stonor, with a grim laugh. "You've found your tongue, eh?
Mosquitoes! That's not a patch on what you intended for me, my girl! But
if you want to be friends, all right. First give an account of
yourself."

She relapsed into silence.

"I say, tell me who you are and where you came from."

She said, with exactly the manner of a wilful child: "You can't make me
talk."

"Oh, all right! But I can let the mosquitoes bite you."

Nevertheless he untied her from the willows and let her crawl under his
mosquito-bar. Here he tied ankles as well as wrists, beyond any
possibility of escape. It was not pure philanthropy on his part, for he
reflected that when she failed to return, Imbrie might come in search of
her, and take a shot inside his tent just on a chance. For himself he
took his blanket under the darkest shadow of the willows and covered
himself entirely with it excepting a hole to breathe through.

He did succeed in sleeping, and when he awoke the sky was clear and the
stars paling. Before crawling out of his hiding-place he took a careful
survey from between the branches. Nothing stirred outside. Under his
tent his