excuse for
his crime; but he could find only the body of the man he had so
causelessly shot down.

In despair, he turned and fled from the oncoming soldiery. Across the
compound he ran, his revolver still clutched tightly in his hand. At
the gates a sentry halted him. Werper did not pause to parley or to
exert the influence of his commission--he merely raised his weapon and
shot down the innocent black. A moment later the fugitive had torn
open the gates and vanished into the blackness of the jungle, but not
before he had transferred the rifle and ammunition belts of the dead
sentry to his own person.

All that night Werper fled farther and farther into the heart of the
wilderness. Now and again the voice of a lion brought him to a
listening halt; but with cocked and ready rifle he pushed ahead again,
more fearful of the human huntsmen in his rear than of the wild
carnivora ahead.

Dawn came at last, but still the man plodded on. All sense of hunger
and fatigue were lost in the terrors of contemplated capture. He could
think only of escape. He dared not pause to rest or eat until there
was no further danger from pursuit, and so he staggered on until at
last he fell and could rise no more. How long he had fled he did not
know, or try to know. When he could flee no longer the knowledge that
he had reached his limit was hidden from him in the unconsciousness of
utter exhaustion.

And thus it was that Achmet Zek, the Arab, found him. Achmet's
followers were for running a spear through the body of their hereditary
enemy; but Achmet would have it otherwise. First he would question the
Belgian. It were easier to question a man first and kill him
afterward, than kill him first and then question him.

So he had Lieutenant Albert Werper carried to his own tent, and there
slaves administered wine and food in small quantities until at last the
prisoner regained consciousness. As he opened his eyes he saw the
faces of strange black men about him, and just outside the tent the
figure of an Arab. Nowhere was the uniform of his soldiers to be seen.

The Arab turned and seeing the open eyes of the prisoner upon him,
entered the tent.

"I am Achmet Zek," he announced. "Who are you, and what were you doing
in my country? Where are your soldiers?"

Achmet Zek! Werper's eyes went wide, and his heart sank. He was in
the clutches of the most notorious of cut-throats--a hater of all
Europeans, especially those who