ed he scarcely
noticed their departure, for he was otherwise engaged.

One of their hideous little assailants, made bold by success, ventured
to run across an open space between two trees, showing himself for
a moment. Alan had a gun in his hand, and mad with rage at what had
happened, he raised it and swung on him as he would upon a rabbit. He
was a quick and practised shot and his skill did not fail him now, for
just as the dwarf was vanishing behind a tree, the bullet caught him and
next instant he was seen rolling over and over upon its further side.

"That very nice," said Jeekie reflectively, "very nice indeed, but I
think we best move out of this."

"Aren't you hurt?" gasped Alan. "Your back is full of arrows."

"Don't feel nothing, Major," he answered, "best cork mattress, 25/3 at
Stores, very good for poisoned arrow, but leave him behind now, because
perhaps points work through as I run, one scratch do trick," and as
he spoke Jeekie untied a string or several strings, letting the little
mattress fall to the ground.

"Great pity leave all those goods," said Jeekie, surveying the loads
that the porters had cast away, "but what says Book? Life more than
raiment. Also take no thought for morrow. Dwarf people do that for us.
Come, Major, make tracks," and dashing at a bag of cartridges which he
cast about his neck, a trifling addition to his other impedimenta, and
a small case of potted meats that he hitched under his arm, he poked his
master in the back with the muzzle of his full-cocked gun as a signal
that it was time to start.

"Keep that cursed thing off me," said Alan furiously. "How often have I
told you never to carry firearms at full cock?"

"About one thousand times, Major," answered Jeekie imperturbably, "but
on such occasion forget discreetness. My ma just same, it run in family,
but story too long tell you now. Cut, Major, cut like hell. Them dwarfs
be back soon, but," he puffed, "I think, I think Little Bonsa come
square with them one day."

So Alan "cut" and the huge Jeekie blundered along after him, the
paraphernalia with which he was hung about rattling like the hoofs of a
galloping giraffe. Nor for all his load did he ever turn a hair. Whether
it were fear within or a desire to save his master, or a belief in the
virtues of Little Bonsa, or that his foot was, as it were, once more
upon his native heath, the fact remained that notwithstanding the
fifty years, almost, that had whitened his w