capes him, as
his feet once more tread firm ground, though, did he but know it, the
soil of the washy swamp, by closing over his footsteps, has rendered him
invaluable service in hiding his spoor from his enemies. That he has
enemies, more than one furtive and anxious glance behind--if nothing
else--would serve to show.

A pitiable spectacle, his clothing in rags and plentifully soaked with
blood--his own blood--still welling from and clotting round his wounds,
as he toils onwards, his heavy unkempt beard matted with it as it
trickles from a gash in his head, his progress beset by a whole cloud of
flies and voracious winged insects, yet the fugitive is a well-built,
strong-framed man of medium height, and well below middle age; strong
indeed he must be, for in this deplorable plight he has covered many a
weary mile, nor before him is there any hope of succour or refuge. Yet
the sheer dogged instinct of self-preservation buoys him up, keeps him
ever moving forward, anywhere so that it is only forward.

The low-lying ragged rain clouds roll back over the tree tops, and the
dull blaze of the sun, watery through the tropical mist, but intensely
piercing and penetrating as though focussed through the lens of a
burning-glass, envelops him in an overpowering fold of heat, His brain
reels, his uneven steps are more staggering than ever. Why keep on?
Why struggle further? The spears and hatchets of his enemies were more
merciful. Yes, but the fire, the lingering death of torment by that or
any other form, or at best the yoke and slave chain, and being
weaponless, he has no means of selling his life dearly, or even of
ending it with his own hand when the last hope had vanished.

Ah! the welcome shade of the trees is gained at length. The lay of the
land is flat, with a scarcely perceptible undulation, and alternates in
open spaces--mostly swampy--and forest, the latter, however, not thick
with undergrowth. Once within the shade, cool by comparison, the
fugitive sinks to the earth. With bursting heart and labouring lungs,
his strong frame weakened by continual loss of blood, he can go no
further. A lurid mist is before his eyes, and a feeling of intense
lassitude, of dissolution, overpowers him, and he lies unconscious.

Not for long, however. All creation--human, animal, insect, even
vegetable life--seems leagued together against the hunted man. Great
black ants, attracted by the blood from his wounds, are crawling