f us could cast back and
remember some sinister act upon the part of the half-breed--his
constant desire to know our plans, his arrest outside our tent when he
was over-hearing them, the furtive looks of hatred which from time to
time one or other of us had surprised. We were still discussing it,
endeavoring to adjust our minds to these new conditions, when a
singular scene in the plain below arrested our attention.

A man in white clothes, who could only be the surviving half-breed, was
running as one does run when Death is the pacemaker. Behind him, only
a few yards in his rear, bounded the huge ebony figure of Zambo, our
devoted negro. Even as we looked, he sprang upon the back of the
fugitive and flung his arms round his neck. They rolled on the ground
together. An instant afterwards Zambo rose, looked at the prostrate
man, and then, waving his hand joyously to us, came running in our
direction. The white figure lay motionless in the middle of the great
plain.

Our two traitors had been destroyed, but the mischief that they had
done lived after them. By no possible means could we get back to the
pinnacle. We had been natives of the world; now we were natives of the
plateau. The two things were separate and apart. There was the plain
which led to the canoes. Yonder, beyond the violet, hazy horizon, was
the stream which led back to civilization. But the link between was
missing. No human ingenuity could suggest a means of bridging the
chasm which yawned between ourselves and our past lives. One instant
had altered the whole conditions of our existence.

It was at such a moment that I learned the stuff of which my three
comrades were composed. They were grave, it is true, and thoughtful,
but of an invincible serenity. For the moment we could only sit among
the bushes in patience and wait the coming of Zambo. Presently his
honest black face topped the rocks and his Herculean figure emerged
upon the top of the pinnacle.

"What I do now?" he cried. "You tell me and I do it."

It was a question which it was easier to ask than to answer. One thing
only was clear. He was our one trusty link with the outside world. On
no account must he leave us.

"No no!" he cried. "I not leave you. Whatever come, you always find
me here. But no able to keep Indians. Already they say too much
Curupuri live on this place, and they go home. Now you leave them me
no able to keep them."

It was a fact that our