s weird, nocturnal
noises. "Just such a night."

The face softened somewhat at the recollection, then hardened again more
than ever. More blood was to flow, more blood to be poured out upon the
altar of a never-dying vengeance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The three wended through the labyrinthine shades, finding their way with
almost the instinct of wild animals. Pandulu talked volubly about the
coming rising, but the other two, beyond putting a question or so here
and there, said not much.

"_Whau_!" he exclaimed, looking up. "The moon is sinking. Shall we not
rest and make a fire? This is a place for evil things to happen in the
black darkness."

"For evil things to happen," repeated Sapazani. "For evil things to
happen. _Eh-he_, Pandulu."

There was that in the tone which the man addressed did not like. Or
could it be that a whispered word or two between the chief and Opondo
had not escaped his notice, though he could not hear its burden?

As he had said, the moon was dropping, and more than an hour of black
darkness lay between this and daylight. And darkness under these shades
could be very black indeed. Anyway, he did not like the chief's tone--
no, not a bit. Perhaps he had some secret reason of his own for not
liking it, anyway he suddenly realised that he was in deadly peril.

"Here will we rest," said Sapazani, coming to a sudden halt. They had
gained an open space, which was lighter beneath the dying moon. The
stranger agreed with alacrity.

"I will go and gather sticks for a fire," he said, making a move towards
the thickest part of the bush.

"Move not," said the chief sternly, covering him with his rifle.

This was unanswerable. Yet quick as thought, in sheer desperation,
Pandulu turned and fled. But no bullet stopped his course or whizzed
past him. Dropping his rifle, Sapazani sprang in pursuit.

It was something of a chase. The hunted man fleeing for life itself, as
now he knew, twisted and doubled like a hare, and in running had just as
good a chance as his pursuer. The latter, for his part, realising what
enormous odds were at stake upon this man escaping, put forward every
effort. Even then it is doubtful whether he would have been successful;
but a forest game path is an awkward place for a sprinting match, and
the fugitive's foot catching in some tangle of undergrowth he fell
headlong. In a moment his pursuer was upon