t of a man of tall and powerful build, his body covered with blood,
his clothing in rags, his hair and beard matted and streaming, his
rolling eyes starting from their sockets. In each hand he brandishes a
short white club, consisting, in fact, of the leg-bone of a human being,
as he bounds and leaps, yelling his horrible, maniacal scream; while
around, on three sides of him, a densely packed mass of beasts is
swaying and snarling, now driven back by the sheer terror of his
maniacal onslaught, then surging forward, as the man, ever keeping his
rear secured by the hut door, retires again.

But it is an unequal combat that cannot last. Even the prodigious
strength and courage of the assailed cannot hold out against the
overwhelming numbers and boldness of the assailants.

Then the tables are turned--and that with a suddenness which is almost
laughable. Their approach unperceived, these timely rescuers simply
rake the closely packed mass of hyaenas with their fire. The cowardly
brutes, driven frantic with the suddenness and terror of this surprise,
turn tail and flee, many rolling over and over each other in their rout,
leaving, too, a goodly number on the ground, dead or wounded. The
latter the natives of the party amuse themselves by finishing off, while
their leaders are turning their attention to the rescued man.

"I say, old chap, you've had a narrow squeak for it," says the younger
of the two. "We seem to be only just in time. Good thing you yelled
out as you did, or we shouldn't have been that."

The other makes no reply. Gazing vacantly at his rescuers, he continues
to twirl his gruesome weapons, with much the same regularity of movement
as though he were practising with Indian clubs prior to taking his
morning bath.

"How did you get here?" goes on the leader, with a strange look at his
white companion.

"Eh? Get here? Ran, of course."

"Ran?" taking in the woeful state to which the unfortunate man had
manifestly been brought. "Why did you run? Who was after you?"

"The devil."

"Who?"

"The devil."

"But--where are your pals? Where are the rest of you?"

"Pals? Oh, dead."

"Dead?"

"Rather. Dead as herrings, the whole lot. Fancy that!"

The coolness with which the man makes this statement is simply eerie, as
he stands there in the moonlight, a horrible picture in his
blood-stained rags. More than a doubt as to his sanity crosses the
minds of at any rate two of his hearers. No