Rudolph, sitting in the mud, felt only that his eyes were
dry and leaden in their sockets, that there was a drumming in his ears,
and that if heat and weariness thus made an end of him, he need no
longer watch the oppressive multitude of stars, or hear the monotony of
flowing water.

Something stirred in the dry grass above him. Without turning, he heard
a man scramble down the bank; without looking up, he felt some one pause
and stoop close. When at last, in profound apathy, he raised his eyes,
he saw against the starlight the hat, head, and shoulders of a coolie.

Quite natural, he thought, that the fellow should be muttering in
German. It was only the halting, rusty fashion of the speech that
finally fretted him into listening. The words did not concern him.

"Are you dead, then?" grumbled the coolie. "Did she kill you?"

Rudolph dismissed him with a vague but angry motion.

Some time afterward the same voice came louder. The coolie was still
there.

"You cannot sit here all night," he said. "By daylight they will catch
you. Come. Perhaps I can take you to your friends. Come."

Rudolph felt sharp knuckles working at his lips, and before he could
rebel, found his mouth full of sweet fiery liquid. He choked, swallowed,
and presently heard the empty bottle splash in the river.

"_Stoesst an_!" said the rescuer, and chuckled something in dispraise of
women. "Is that not better?"

The rice-brandy was hot and potent; for of a sudden Rudolph found
himself afoot and awake. A dizzy warmth cleared his spirit. He
understood perfectly. This man, for some strange reason, was Wutzler, a
coolie and yet a brother from the fatherland. He and his nauseous alien
brandy had restored the future. There was more to do.

"Come on." The forsaken lover was first man up the bank. "See!" he
cried, pointing to a new flare in the distance. The whole region was now
aglow like a furnace, and filled with smoke, with prolonged yells, and a
continuity of explosions that ripped the night air like tearing silk.
"Her house is burning now."

"You left in time." Wutzler shuffled before him, with the trot of a
lean and exhausted laborer. "I was with the men you fought, when you
ran. I followed to the house, and then here, to the river. I was glad
you did not jump on board." He glanced back, timidly, for approbation.
"I am a great coward, Herr Heywood told me so,--but I also stay
and help."

He steered craftily among the longest and blackest s