looks thin and ill-used, and may very well have been
one of the wretched beggars you have told me about who are kept
prisoners at Kumasi, till some uncle or grandmother of King Koffee's
dies, when hundreds of captives are sacrificed."

"More than likely," was our hero's answer, for he had been in this part
of the country long enough to have learned all that was known of the
Ashantis and their ferocity. He knew that it was said that thousands
were slain in cold blood every year in this horrible den called Kumasi,
and that the death of a king's son necessitated the slaying of at least
two thousand wretched girls, children and men, to satiate the hideous
Moloch reigning over the fetish house at the capital. And no doubt this
poor fellow was one. Dick nodded to him and smiled, and at the sign of
friendship the man rose and crept towards him till he crouched at his
feet. Then he did a strange thing. He fumbled with his twitching
fingers in the masses of his hair, and finally produced a discoloured
piece of linen.

"For the white chief," he said; "I have risked my life to bring it to
you. These Ashanti men would have killed me as I came, and if they had
captured me--"

The very thought of what might have followed unnerved the man, who was
still suffering from the effects of his desperate efforts to escape.
His teeth shook while his limbs trembled. Then he seized our hero by
the hand and clung to it as if his life now depended upon doing so.

"Who are you?" asked Dick, using the Ashanti tongue. "Where do you come
from, and why have you been pursued?"

"Look at the letter, chief. See the figures there and I will talk. I
am an Assim. I hate these cruel Ashantis."

The native watched with eager eyes as the strip of discoloured linen was
unfolded, and started back as if in terror as the white youth suddenly
rose from the roof of the deck cabin to his feet and glared at the
strip. It was an important missive, evidently, for he grew red with
excitement, and gave a prolonged whistle of astonishment. Then he
called in loud tones to Jack to come to his side. There was a tone of
profound astonishment and relief in his voice, and he waved the strip of
linen above his head.

"News!" he shouted. "News at last! Look at the signature. Poor
beggar! How he must be suffering!"

"Who? Who's the poor beggar? Is it one of the captives about whom
there has been such a row? You know whom I mean. The Europeans for
who