ging, men lost their
identity, and if--or when--we killed one, we rarely knew it. But in this
peaceful country it seemed a more murderous thing to do. Yet perhaps
the truest reason why my nerves had turned to steel was the dominating
thought of Sylvia.

Twice I rehearsed before Smilax what I was to do. I stood apart and
called: "Post One, nine o'clock, and all's-er-well!" to let him judge if
my voice differed materially from the one we heard last night. This was
most important, as the suspicion of the guard at post Three must not be
aroused. I then called the next post in an altered voice, and felt well
pleased when Smilax said the tones were near enough to pass.

It was an uncanny rehearsal, this imitating the voices of those whom we
should have made forever silent, but if there existed anywhere on earth
a justification for the taking of human life it rested with Smilax and
me. We were not killers, but defenders; we did not go so much to destroy
as to save. Our way was the only way to rescue a helpless girl and a
faithful old woman from destruction. Two men, or two hundred, made no
difference now; I would kill all, or any number, who stood in the way of
that beloved girl's safety.

We looked over our firearms. I had given him Tommy's "l'il crack-crack"
which, with my own, were the only weapons we intended to take--I mean
the only explosive weapons, for Smilax carried his long, keen-edged
hunting knife, a thing he was never without; and I, likewise, strapped
on my own. After this we went about putting the camp in order; building
a shelter tent by the spring for Sylvia and an adjacent lean-to for
Echochee. Joyfully I robbed myself of bedding, arranged comfortable
shake-downs with moss and leaves of the cabbage palm, and did everything
conceivable to make the place attractive.

I had demurred at first about coming back here for a day or two;
wanting, instead, to travel as speedily as possible to Big Cove, where
the _Whim_--and if not the _Whim_, at least the _Orchid_--would be at
our disposal. But he showed me the futility of this. In the first place,
that was exactly what Efaw Kotee would be suspecting when the escape
became known. The dead sentries, certain to be discovered when they
failed to call the next half hour, would reveal the story of outside
help, so the pursuit would be swift and directly up the coast--swifter,
indeed, than she might be able to travel.

"Why shouldn't they think we'd taken her off in a s