fore his hut door, noticed that the
sound did not seem very welcome.

Joseph's arrival with ten new men seemed to give a fresh zest to the
work, and the carefully-packed cases of Simiacine began to fill Oscard's
tent to some inconvenience. Thus things went on for two tranquil weeks.

"First," Oscard had said, "let us get the crop in and then we can
arrange what is to be done about the future."

So the crop received due attention; but the two leaders of the men--he
who led by fear and he who commanded by love--were watching each other.

One evening, when the work was done, Oscard's meditations were disturbed
by the sound of angry voices behind the native camp. He turned naturally
towards Durnovo's tent, and saw that he was absent. The voices rose and
fell: there was a singular accompanying roar of sound which Oscard never
remembered having heard before. It was the protesting voice of a mass of
men--and there is no sound like it--none so disquieting. Oscard listened
attentively, and suddenly he was thrown up on his feet by a pistol-shot.

At the same moment Joseph emerged from behind the tents, dragging some
one by the collar. The victim of Joseph's violence was off his feet, but
still struggling and kicking.

Guy Oscard saw the flash of a second shot, apparently within a few
inches of Joseph's face; but he came on, dragging the man with him, whom
from his clothing Oscard saw to be Durnovo.

Joseph was spitting out wadding and burnt powder.

"Shoot ME, would yer--yer damned skulking chocolate-bird? I'll teach
you! I'll twist that brown neck of yours."

He shook him as a terrier shakes a rat, and seemed to shake things off
him--among others a revolver which described a circle in the air and
fell heavily on the ground, where the concussion discharged a cartridge.

"'Ere, sir," cried Joseph, literally throwing Durnovo down on the ground
at Oscard's feet, "that man has just shot one o' them poor niggers, so
'elp me God!"

Durnovo rose slowly to his feet, as if the shaking had disturbed his
faculties.

"And the man hadn't done 'im no harm at all. He's got a grudge against
him. I've seen that this last week and more. It's a man as was kinder
fond o' me, and we understood each other's lingo. That's it--he was
afraid of my 'earing things that mightn't be wholesome for me to know.
The man hadn't done no harm. And Durnovo comes up and begins abusing
'im, and then he strikes 'im, and then he out with his revolver and
s