mer fiercely, striding forward and seizing her by
her long hair. "Take away her knife, Watty, quick!" And he dragged her
head back with brutal strength--to release his hold with a cry of savage
fury as the woman turned upon him and with a swift stroke severed the
fingers of his left hand. Again she raised her hand as Larmer drew a
pistol and shot her through the body. She fell without a cry upon the
gun beneath.

"By ------, you've done it now!" said the man

Watty. "Look there! There's all our natives running away. We're as good
as dead men if we stay here five minutes longer. I'm off anyway"; and
then, hurriedly binding up his companion's bleeding hand, he disappeared
into the surrounding forest after his native allies.

For a few moments Larmer stood irresolute, looking first at the body of
the woman lying across the gun, then at his wounded hand. Already the
shouts of Challoner's natives sounded near, and he knew that the boats
had reached the beach. The gun, which had cost him so dear, must be
abandoned, but he would take a further revenge upon its owner. He ran
quickly to a fire which burned dimly in Challoner's cooking-house, lit
a bunch of dried palm leaves, and thrust it into the thatch of the
dwelling-house. Then he struck into the jungle.

As Challoner, followed by Dawson and the men of Jakoits village, rushed
along the narrow path that led to his house, they heard the roar and
crackle of the flames; when they gained the open they saw the bright
light shining on the old cannon, whose polished brass was stained and
streaked with red. Tiaru lay across the breech, dead.

*****

For nearly two days Challoner and his natives followed the tracks of
the murderer into the heart of the mountain forest of Ponape. Dawson
and another party had left early the same night for the Roan Kiti coast,
where they landed and formed a cordon, which it would be impossible for
Larmer to pass.

Watty, his fellow-scoundrel, was captured early next morning. He had
lost his way and was lying asleep beside a fire on the banks of a small
stream.

He was promptly shot by Dawson. Larmer was to be taken alive.

Meanwhile Challoner and his men pressed steadily on, driving their prey
before them. At noon on the second day they caught sight of his huge
figure ascending a rocky spur, and a party of natives ran swiftly to its
base and hid at the margin of a small, deep pool. Challoner knew that
his man wanted a drink, and would soon des