body of his horse, rose, and taking his rifle with him, backed slowly
down the trail until a turn hid him from the view of the watchful Arab.

Even then Achmet Zek did not advance, fearful as he was of some such
treachery as he himself might have been guilty of under like
circumstances; nor were his suspicions groundless, for the Belgian, no
sooner had he passed out of the range of the Arab's vision, halted
behind the bole of a tree, where he still commanded an unobstructed
view of his dead horse and the pouch, and raising his rifle covered the
spot where the other's body must appear when he came forward to seize
the treasure.

But Achmet Zek was no fool to expose himself to the blackened honor of
a thief and a murderer. Taking his long gun with him, he left the
trail, entering the rank and tangled vegetation which walled it, and
crawling slowly forward on hands and knees he paralleled the trail; but
never for an instant was his body exposed to the rifle of the hidden
assassin.

Thus Achmet Zek advanced until he had come opposite the dead horse of
his enemy. The pouch lay there in full view, while a short distance
along the trail, Werper waited in growing impatience and nervousness,
wondering why the Arab did not come to claim his reward.

Presently he saw the muzzle of a rifle appear suddenly and mysteriously
a few inches above the pouch, and before he could realize the cunning
trick that the Arab had played upon him the sight of the weapon was
adroitly hooked into the rawhide thong which formed the carrying strap
of the pouch, and the latter was drawn quickly from his view into the
dense foliage at the trail's side.

Not for an instant had the raider exposed a square inch of his body,
and Werper dared not fire his one remaining shot unless every chance of
a successful hit was in his favor.

Chuckling to himself, Achmet Zek withdrew a few paces farther into the
jungle, for he was as positive that Werper was waiting nearby for a
chance to pot him as though his eyes had penetrated the jungle trees to
the figure of the hiding Belgian, fingering his rifle behind the bole
of the buttressed giant.

Werper did not dare advance--his cupidity would not permit him to
depart, and so he stood there, his rifle ready in his hands, his eyes
watching the trail before him with catlike intensity.

But there was another who had seen the pouch and recognized it, who did
advance with Achmet Zek, hovering above him, as silent an