ight rally and
rescue him. But look out carefully for the wounded. They may send more
than one man under before they go under themselves."

His advice was needed. In more than one instance some desperate savage,
mortally and otherwise disabled, gripped his assegai in a feigned death
grip to strike a last blow at any who should be unwary enough to
approach him. But Sapazani was found not to be dead, though his days
were numbered not by hours, but by minutes.

He, as they surrounded him, opened his eyes, but made no act of
aggression, although by an effort he might have reached his broad
assegai. Verna's bullet had drilled through his chest, narrowly missing
the heart, and, being a Dum-dum, had torn away a gaping and ghastly hole
beneath the shoulder where it had come out. As they propped him up
against the body of one of his slain followers the rush of blood was
enough to have ended the life of any one but a savage then and there.

"_Whau_!" he ejaculated feebly. "It is U' Ben. And we were friends."

"Were, yes," answered the trader shortly. "No one knows better than
Sapazani why we are so no longer."

This, of course, was "dark" talking to Bray and the police. However,
they supposed it referred to some trading transaction between these two.
And at the same time a very uncomfortable misgiving came into Ben
Halse's mind. What if the dying chief, out of sheer malignity, were to
"give away," for the benefit of the police, some very awkward, not to
say incriminating transactions in which he had been mixed up. But
Sapazani's next words were--

"Where is Izibu? for something tells me I died by her stroke. I would
fain see her again to say farewell."

Ben Halse's face hardened, knowing what he did and what the others did
not. He hesitated, but as he did so a clear, hard voice struck upon his
ear--upon the ears of all of them.

"Here is Izibu." And Verna, who had been approaching unseen, joined the
group.

"It is well," said the dying chief. "I am content. We have been
friends."

There was a world of pathetic dignity about the man as he sat there, his
large, powerful frame thrilling in every nerve with bodily anguish, his
fine face wet with the dews of death, as he turned his lustrous but
fading eyes upon one or the other of the group.

"Friends!" echoed Verna in biting scorn. "Friends? Where, then, is he
who was left behind yesterday, he who was our friend and therefore
yours?"

Sapazani looke