-and then--and then--"

He was exhausted, and sank back speechless. Trent sat and watched him,
smoking in thoughtful silence. They two were a little apart from the
others, and Francis was fainting. A hand upon his throat--a drop from
that phial in the medicine-chest--and his faint would carry him into
eternity. And still Trent sat and smoked.

CHAPTER XXVI

It was Trent himself who kept watch through that last long hour of
moonlit darkness till the wan morning broke. With its faint, grey
streaks came the savages of Bekwando, crawling up in a semicircle
through the long, rough grass, then suddenly, at a signal, bounding
upright with spears poised in their hands--an ugly sight in the dim dawn
for men chilled with the moist, damp air and only half-awake. But Trent
had not been caught napping. His stealthy call to arms had aroused them
in time at least to crawl behind some shelter and grip their rifles. The
war-cry of the savages was met with a death-like quiet--there were no
signs of confusion nor terror. A Kru boy, who called out with fright,
was felled to the ground by Trent with a blow which would have staggered
an ox. With their rifles in hand, and every man stretched flat upon
the ground, Trent's little party lay waiting. Barely a hundred yards
separated them, yet there was no sign of life from the camp. The long
line of savages advanced a few steps more, their spears poised above
their heads, their half-naked forms showing more distinctly as they
peered forward through the grey gloom, savage and ferocious. The white
men were surely sleeping still. They were as near now as they could get.
There was a signal and then a wild chorus of yells. They threw aside all
disguise and darted forward, the still morning air hideous with their
cry of battle. Then, with an awful suddenness, their cry became the cry
of death, for out from the bushes belched a yellow line of fire as the
rifles of Trent and his men rang out their welcome. A dozen at least of
the men of Bekwando looked never again upon the faces of their wives,
the rest hesitated. Trent, in whom was the love of fighting, made then
his first mistake. He called for a sally, and rushed out, revolver in
hand, upon the broken line. Half the blacks ran away like rabbits; the
remainder, greatly outnumbering Trent and his party, stood firm. In a
moment it was hand-to-hand fighting, and Trent was cursing already the
bravado which had brought him out to the open.

For a