his performance.

"So she believed it?"

"Surely."

"What did she do, then?"

"She set the dog on me. Look here! and here! and here!" and he pointed
to the half-healed scars left by Stomp's sharp fangs.

Muller laughed a little. "I should like to have seen him worry you, you
black cheat; it shows her spirit, too. I suppose you are angry, and want
to have a revenge?"

"Surely."

"Well, who knows? Perhaps you shall; we are going there to-morrow."

"So, Baas! I knew that before you told me."

"We are going there, and we are going to take the place; and we are
going to try Uncle Silas by court-martial for flying an English flag,
and if he is found guilty we are going to shoot him, Hendrik."

"So, Baas," said the Kafir, rubbing his hands in glee, "but will he be
found guilty?"

"I don't know," murmured the white man, stroking his golden beard; "that
will depend upon what missie has to say; and upon the verdict of the
court," he added, by way of an afterthought.

"On the verdict of the court, ha! ha!" chuckled his wicked satellite;
"on the verdict of the court, yes! yes! and the Baas will be president,
ha! ha! One needs no witchcraft to guess that verdict. And if the court
finds Uncle Silas guilty, who will do the shooting, Baas?"

"I have not thought of that; the time has not come to think of it. It
does not matter; anybody can carry out the sentence of the law."

"Baas," said the Kafir, "I have done much for you, and had little pay.
I have done ugly things. I had read omens and made medicines and 'smelt
out' your enemies. Will you grant me a favour? Will you let me shoot
_Oom_ Croft if the court finds him guilty? It is not much to ask, Baas.
I am a clever wizard and deserve my pay."

"Why do you want to shoot him?"

"Because he flogged me once, years ago, for being a witch-doctor, and
the other day he hunted me off the place. Beside, it is nice to shoot
a white man. I should like it better," he went on, with a smack of the
lips, "if it were missie, who set the dog on me. I would----"

In a moment Muller had seized the astonished ruffian by the throat, and
was kicking and shaking him as though he were a toy. His brutal talk of
Bessie appealed to such manliness as he had in him, and, whatever his
own wickedness may have been, he was too madly in love with the woman to
let her name be taken in vain by a man whom, though he held his "magic"
in superstitious reverence, he yet ranked lower than a dog. With