dams shortly.

He led them for a distance of about a hundred yards, then halted, and
the prisoners found themselves in a hollow square.

"Are you going to slaughter unarmed men?" cried the surgeon, who was
terrified at the very appearance of the wild-looking Caroline Islanders
and their grim, silent leaders.

Adams shook his head, but made no reply.

A heavy footstep sounded in the jungle near them, and Stenhouse,
carrying two cutlasses under his arm, strode into the square and stood
before Fullerton.

For a moment or two their eyes met, and then Stenhouse raised his hand
and touched his distorted face.

"You know me, Mr. Fullerton?"

"I know you. You have come to kill me."

"Yes, unless you kill me." He drew a cutlass from its leather sheath and
held its hilt out to the man he hated. Fullerton folded his arms across
his chest.

"Take it," said Stenhouse slowly, "or, by Heavens! I'll cut you down as
you stand."

"As you will," replied the old man steadily, "but fight you I will not.
My life is in your hands. Take it. I am not afraid to die."

Stenhouse drew his cutlass slowly, his one eye shining with a deadly
hatred.

"For God's sake, man, whoever you are, whatever your injuries may be,
do not shed the blood of an old man on his son's grave!" and the captain
sprang forward with outspread, appealing hands.

"His son!" and the point of the gleaming weapon drooped.

"His only son. Have mercy on him, as you hope for mercy yourself."

"Stop, Captain Marsland. Do not ask for mercy for me. I did this man a
grievous wrong. My life is his. Let him have his due."

Stenhouse threw down his cutlass with an oath, turned his back on his
enemy, and put his hand to his forehead.

Then he faced round sharply, and once more he looked into Fullerton's
unmoved face.

"Go," he said.

And without another word he strode away, followed by his comrades and
his savage companions.

SAUNDERSON AND THE DYNAMITE

Saunderson was one of those men who firmly believed that he knew
everything, and exasperated people by telling them how to do things; and
Denison, the supercargo of the _Palestine_, hated him most fervently for
the continual trouble he was giving to every one, and also because he
had brought a harmonium on board, and played dismal tunes on it every
night and all day on Sundays. But, as Saunderson was one of the partners
in the firm who owned the _Palestine_, Denison, and Packenham the
skipper, had to suff