nt of German East Africa.

Fraulein Bertha Kircher was lost. She was humiliated and angry--it
was long before she would admit it, that she, who prided herself
upon her woodcraft, was lost in this little patch of country between
the Pangani and the Tanga railway. She knew that Wilhelmstal lay
southeast of her about fifty miles; but, through a combination of
untoward circumstances, she found herself unable to determine which
was southeast.

In the first place she had set out from German headquarters on a
well-marked road that was being traveled by troops and with every
reason to believe that she would follow that road to Wilhelmstal.
Later she had been warned from this road by word that a strong
British patrol had come down the west bank of the Pangani, effected
a crossing south of her, and was even then marching on the railway
at Tonda.

After leaving the road she found herself in thick bush and as the
sky was heavily overcast she presently had recourse to her compass
and it was not until then that she discovered to her dismay that
she did not have it with her. So sure was she of her woodcraft,
however, that she continued on in the direction she thought west
until she had covered sufficient distance to warrant her in feeling
assured that, by now turning south, she could pass safely in rear
of the British patrol.

Nor did she commence to feel any doubts until long after she had
again turned toward the east well south, as she thought, of the
patrol. It was late afternoon--she should long since have struck
the road again south of Tonda; but she had found no road and now
she began to feel real anxiety.

Her horse had traveled all day without food or water, night
was approaching and with it a realization that she was hopelessly
lost in a wild and trackless country notorious principally for its
tsetse flies and savage beasts. It was maddening to know that she
had absolutely no knowledge of the direction she was traveling--that
she might be forging steadily further from the railway, deeper
into the gloomy and forbidding country toward the Pangani; yet it
was impossible to stop-she must go on.

Bertha Kircher was no coward, whatever else she may have been, but
as night began to close down around her she could not shut out from
her mind entirely contemplation of the terrors of the long hours
ahead before the rising sun should dissipate the Stygian gloom--the
horrid jungle night--that lures forth all the prowling, preyin