ndle him in."

A man produced his sword, and the lashings were cut. Then, with the
smallest ceremony, Dick was bundled into the hut, a one-roomed erection,
smelling evilly, and almost devoid of light. But it was his for the
moment, and he revelled in the opportunity it gave him to be alone. He
sat down in one corner, feeling weary and sore from head to foot, while
the evil smell of the place made him horribly sick. He was faint and
giddy, and when at length the food was brought which was to be his
evening meal, he pushed it from him.

He was down again with fever. No white man can live in the heart of the
Ashanti forests, particularly on the river, without subjecting himself
to the risk of incessant fever attacks, and once the malady has been
gained, the paroxysms are apt to recur very often. Hardship, privation
and excitement generally are sufficient to cause them to return, and it
is therefore not wonderful to have to record that Dick Stapleton was
again a victim. His teeth chattered, he was miserably cold in spite of
the fact that the temperature in this stuffy hut was almost unbearable,
and he had no appetite. Indeed, he was soon semi-delirious, and it was
not till many weeks had passed that he was himself again. The fever,
want of nursing, unsatisfactory foods, and incarceration in the hut did
their work too thoroughly, so that on this occasion he was longer in
recovering. And when he was stronger, and was allowed to step from the
hut, it was to find Kumasi in a ferment, to discover the house of
execution fully occupied, and the bodies of fresh victims everywhere.
For the British advance had begun. Sir Garnet Wolseley, the energetic
and indefatigable worker, was already on the way to the capital of the
Ashantis, with a goodly following of troops behind him.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

KING KOFFEE, THE TERRIBLE.

Kumasi was in an uproar. The long, wide street which cut through the
heart of the huge town was alive with Ashanti warriors, and with
shrieking women and children. There was consternation on every face,
and fierce anger at the news which had just come from the river Prahsu.

"Your soldiers have bridged the river and are about to advance," growled
James Langdon, as he threw the door of the prison hut open and accosted
Dick. "These fools here think that their fetish will prevail and keep
the British back. I know better, for I have seen British troops. They
will reach this place, and perhaps