-bayonet such as was used by the Native Police, its
haft _towards_ John Ames. Now he saw who had cut the strap.

He reached forth cautiously, and gently withdrew the weapon from
Pukele's grasp; then, having cut the strap confining his other arm, bent
down, and in a moment his legs were free. Pukele the while was
discoursing volubly with the other Police rebels, fanning a heated
discussion and egging them on to drink. But ever between them and the
prisoner he stood. A horrible sight they presented, their once smart
uniforms filthy with blood and grease, their faces lolling with
intoxicated imbecility, their speech thick and their legs tottering.
But the treacherous Pukele, the riotous, drunken, abusive Pukele, now
seemed, strange to say, as sober as the proverbial judge. He stood
firm, unless perhaps a gradual swaying of his body to the left were
perceptible; and the door of the hut was behind him--a little to the
left.

John Ames, between him and the door aforesaid, watched every move. The
savage roysterers were becoming alternately more and more riotous and
maudlin. Then the faithful Pukele made a movement with his hand behind
him. It was unmistakable. John Ames slid from the chair, and in a
moment was through the door, and round behind the hut just in time to
avoid running right into the arms of a new--and sober--body of the now
revolted police, who had come up to join in the fun and to loot their
murdered officer's quarters. He had escaped with his life. After all,
there was some fidelity left among these barbarians, he thought, as he
stepped briskly, yet cautiously, through the darkness. He had escaped
with his life, yet here he was, in the heart of a rebel country--every
one of whose white settlers had probably by this time fallen in savage
massacre--without food or means of procuring any, and with no other
weapon than a sword-bayonet. The outlook was far from reassuring.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

HOLLINGWORTH'S FARM.

"Roll out, Dibs. Roll out, you lazy beggar. It'll take us at least
three hours."

Thus Moseley, surveyor, to Tarrant, ditto. The campfire had gone out
during the small hours, and the line of action enjoined upon the latter
by his chum was not a congenial one, for the atmosphere half an hour
before sunrise was chill and shivery. Yet, early as it was, the horses
and pack-donkeys had already been turned out of the "scherm," or
extemporised enclosure, in which they had spent the night