ance whatever of escape. Now he knew
that it was in vain, he regretted only his wasted efforts--he had no
sentimental regrets in leaving him. It was his own life he wanted--his
own life he meant to fight for.

"I wouldn't swear at Oom Sam too hard," Monty continued. "Remember for
the last two days he was doing all he could to get us out of the
place. It was those fetish fellows who worked the mischief and
he--certainly--warned us all he could. He took us safely to Bekwando and
he worked the oracle with the King!"

"Yes, and afterwards sneaked off with Francis," Trent broke in bitterly,
"and took every bearer with him--after we'd paid them for the return
journey too. Sent us out here to be trapped and butchered like rats. If
we'd only had a guide we should have been at Buckomari by now."

"He was right about the gold," Monty faltered. "It's there for the
picking up. If only we could have got back we were rich for life. If you
escape--you need never do another stroke of work as long as you live."

Trent stood upright, wiped the dank sweat from his forehead and gazed
around him fiercely, and upwards at that lurid little patch of blue sky.

"If I escape!" he muttered. "I'll get out of this if I die walking. I'm
sorry you're done, Monty," he continued slowly. "Say the word and I'll
have one more spell at carrying you! You're not a heavy weight and I'm
rested now!"

But Monty, in whose veins was the chill of death and who sought only for
rest, shook his head.

"It shakes me too much," he said, "and it's only a waste of strength.
You get on, Trent, and don't you bother about me. You've done your duty
by your partner and a bit more. You might leave me the small revolver in
case those howling savages come up--and Trent!"

"Yes--"

"The picture--just for a moment. I'd like to have one look at her!"

Trent drew it out from his pocket--awkwardly--and with a little shame
at the care which had prompted him to wrap it so tenderly in the oilskin
sheet. Monty shaded his face with his hands, and the picture stole up
to his lips. Trent stood a little apart and hated himself for this
last piece of inhumanity. He pretended to be listening for the stealthy
approach of their enemies. In reality he was struggling with the feeling
which prompted him to leave this picture with the dying man.

"I suppose you'd best have it," he said sullenly at last.

But Monty shook his head feebly and held out the picture.

Trent took it with an