he semi-civilized sons of the Prophet
contrasting with the shining skins of the naked Wangoni, even as the
Winchester and Snider rifles and great sheath-knives and revolvers of
the first do with the broad spears and tufted hide shields of the
latter. And with the files of dejected-looking slaves, yoked together in
their heavy wooden forks, or chained only, the whole caravan, numbering
now some six hundred souls, moves onward.

But in the mind of the principal of the two white leaders, as he traces
a cipher on the scene of their recent halt, and in that of the other,
who watches him, is present, now with deepening anxiety, the same
thought, the same speculation: What has become of the third?

CHAPTER XIV.

A DREAM.

Under the shade of a large tree-fern a man is lying asleep.

Around the wilderness spreads in rolling undulation, open here for the
most part, though dotted with clumps of bush and trees, which seem to
have become detached from the dark line of forest. This, on the one
hand, stretches away into endless blue; on the other a broad expanse of
water--apparently a fine river, actually a chain of lagoons--with
reed-fringed banks; and here and there a low spit, where red flamingoes
roost lazily on one leg. Beyond this again lies an unbroken line of
forest.

The man is arrayed in the simple costume of the wilderness--a calico
shirt, and moleskin trousers protected by leather leggings. A
broad-brimmed hat lies under his head, to which, indeed, it serves as
sole pillow. He is heavily armed. The right hand still grips an Express
rifle in mute suggestion of one accustomed to slumber in the midst of
peril. A revolver in a holster rests beside him, and in his leathern
belt is a strong sheath knife. Now and again he moves in his sleep, and
at such times his unarmed hand seems instinctively to seek out something
which is concealed from view, possibly something which is suspended
round his neck by that light but strong chain. Thus hour after hour
rolls over him, as he slumbers on in the burning equatorial heat.

The sleeper turns again uneasily, and as he does so his hand again seeks
the steel chain just visible through his open shirt, and, instinctively
working down it, closes over that which is secured thereto; then, as
though the effect is lulling, once more he is still again, slumbering
easily, peacefully.

The sun's rays, slanting now, dart in beneath the scanty shade of the
tree-fern, and as they burn