y the chance
which had drawn the youth to the same side of the river as that along
which he followed rather than to the opposite side where he would have
been beyond the stalker's reach, hid in the brush close beside the
point at which it was evident the skiff would touch the bank of the
slow-moving stream, which seemed jealous of each fleeting instant which
drew it nearer to the broad and muddy Ugambi where it must for ever
lose its identity in the larger stream that would presently cast its
waters into the great ocean.

Equally indolent were the motions of the Mosula youth as he drew his
skiff beneath an overhanging limb of a great tree that leaned down to
implant a farewell kiss upon the bosom of the departing water,
caressing with green fronds the soft breast of its languorous love.

And, snake-like, amidst the concealing foliage lay the malevolent Russ.
Cruel, shifty eyes gloated upon the outlines of the coveted canoe, and
measured the stature of its owner, while the crafty brain weighed the
chances of the white man should physical encounter with the black
become necessary.

Only direct necessity could drive Alexander Paulvitch to personal
conflict; but it was indeed dire necessity which goaded him on to
action now.

There was time, just time enough, to reach the Kincaid by nightfall.
Would the black fool never quit his skiff? Paulvitch squirmed and
fidgeted. The lad yawned and stretched. With exasperating
deliberateness he examined the arrows in his quiver, tested his bow,
and looked to the edge upon the hunting-knife in his loin-cloth.

Again he stretched and yawned, glanced up at the river-bank, shrugged
his shoulders, and lay down in the bottom of his canoe for a little nap
before he plunged into the jungle after the prey he had come forth to
hunt.

Paulvitch half rose, and with tensed muscles stood glaring down upon
his unsuspecting victim. The boy's lids drooped and closed. Presently
his breast rose and fell to the deep breaths of slumber. The time had
come!

The Russian crept stealthily nearer. A branch rustled beneath his
weight and the lad stirred in his sleep. Paulvitch drew his revolver
and levelled it upon the black. For a moment he remained in rigid
quiet, and then again the youth relapsed into undisturbed slumber.

The white man crept closer. He could not chance a shot until there was
no risk of missing. Presently he leaned close above the Mosula. The
cold steel of the revolver