f purchasing
the hoard of ivory which he went out to seek, and, unwilling to return
empty-handed, pushed on up the river with the hope of obtaining more. In
this he failed also, and had just begun his homeward journey when he was
met by the party which Soa despatched, and heard the terrible tidings
of the abduction of his daughter by Pereira. It was nightfall when the
messengers arrived, and too dark to travel.

For a while Mr. Rodd sat brooding over the news of this crushing
disaster, perhaps the most fearful that could come to a father's ears;
then he did what he was but too prone to do--flew for refuge to the
bottle.

When he had drunk enough to destroy his judgment, he rose, and insisted
upon continuing their march through the inky darkness of the night. In
vain did his men remonstrate, saying that the road was rocky and full of
danger. He would take no denial; indeed, he vowed that if they refused
to come he would shoot them. So they started, Mr. Rodd leading the way,
while his people stumbled after him through trees and over rocks as best
they might.

The march was not a long one, however, for presently the men heard an
oath and a crash, and their master vanished; nor could they find him
till the dawn came to give them light. Then they discovered that they
had halted upon the edge of a small but precipitous cliff, and at the
bottom of the donga beneath lay Mavoom--not dead, indeed, but senseless,
and with three ribs and his right ankle broken. For some days they
nursed him there, till at length he decided upon being carried forward
in a litter. So notwithstanding his sufferings, which were intense, they
bore him homewards by short stages, till ultimately they reached the
Settlement.

That night Leonard examined Mr. Rodd's injuries, and found that they
were fatal; indeed, mortification had already set in about the region of
the broken ribs. Still he lived awhile.

On the following morning the dying man sent for Leonard. Entering
the room, he found him lying on the floor, his head supported in
his daughter's lap, while the priest Francisco prayed beside him. He
suffered no pain now, for when mortification begins pain passes, and his
mind was quite clear.

"Mr. Outram," he said, "I have learnt all the story of the taking of the
slave camp and your rescue of my daughter. It was the pluckiest thing
that I ever heard of, and I only wish that I had been there to help in
it."

"Don't speak of it!" said Leonard.