The bullet must have struck him somewhere, for the man gave a cry.

Bothwell whirled upon me and fired twice as I raced across the moonlit
sand.

A flash of lightning seared my shoulder but did not stop me.

"Ha! The meddler again! Stung you that time, my friend," he shouted, and
fired at me a third time.

They were the last words he was ever to utter. One moment his dark,
venomous face craned toward me above the smoke of his revolver, the next
it was slowly sinking to the ground in a contorted spasm of pain and
rage.

For George Fleming had avenged the attempt upon his brother's life with
a shot in the back.

Bothwell was dead almost before he reached the ground.

For a moment we all stood in a dead silence, adjusting our minds to the
changed conditions.

Then one of the natives gave a squeal of terror and turned to run. Quick
as a flash the rest of them--I counted nine and may have missed one or
two--were scuttling off at his heels.

George Fleming stared at the body of his chief which lay so still on the
ground with the shining moon pouring its cold light on the white face.

Then slowly his eyes came up to meet mine.

In another moment he and his brother were crashing through the lush
underbrush to the beach. I judged from the rapidity with which Henry
moved that he could not be much hurt. From the opposite direction Smith
came running up.

I dropped to my knees beside Yeager and cut the thongs that tied his
hands.

"Hurt?" I asked.

"No," he answered in deep disgust at himself. "I stumbled over a root
and hit my head against this tree right after the game opened. Gallagher
and Alderson had to play it out alone. But Bothwell must have had
fourteen men with him. He got Gallagher in the leg and rushed Alderson.
You dropped in right handy, Jack."

"And not a minute too soon. By Jove! we ran it pretty fine this trip.
Badly hurt, Gallagher?"

"No, sir. Hit in the thigh."

I examined the wound as well as I could and found it not as bad as it
might have been.

"A good clean flesh wound. You're in luck, Gallagher. The last two days
have more than wiped out your week of mutiny. We're all deep in your
debt."

"Thank you, sir," he said, flushing with pleasure.

Here I may put it down that this was the last word Gallagher heard about
his lapse from duty. He and the other reconstructed mutineers were
forgiven, their fault wiped completely off the slate.

I sent Alderson down to the spit to signal the