to that."

Clare was convulsed.

"How did you settle it?" she said.

"Why, he went and turned in alongside of a man who was stone deaf in one
ear, and half in the other, so it didn't matter. Fullerton is a terror
to snore, too, and with a little more practice he'll be as good as the
other man. Just listen to him."

"Eh? What's that about me?" ejaculated the object of this remark,
starting up spasmodically, and rubbing his eyes. "Why, I believe I've
been asleep."

"I don't know about that, old chap," laughed Wyndham. "What we do know
is that you must have worked off a biggish contract in the plank sawing
line, since we last heard the sound of your manly voice. Don't we, Miss
Vidal?"

"Well, this scooting through the air--hot air too--makes one snoozy,"
explained Fullerton, uttering a cavernous yawn. "Hallo! I must have
been asleep a good time, we're at Skrine's already."

They had topped a rise, and now on the slope beneath, and in front,
stood two or three buildings, with the usual native huts and goat kraal
behind. But about the place no sign of life showed.

"Great Scott! I believe there isn't a soul on the place," said Wyndham
anxiously. "No, I thought not," as they rattled up to the door, and saw
that it was securely shut, and that of the stable padlocked. Then,
putting his head round the tent of the waggon, "Sergeant!"

"Sir?" answered the non-com. trotting up.

"Fall back just out of earshot with your men, and do a little language
for us, will you? We can't, we've got ladies with us. Skrine's store's
no good. Skrine's away and his idiotic stable's locked up. No use
outspanning here."

The police sergeant spluttered--and those in the waggon laughed. Yet
not very light-heartedly. It was really a nuisance, for it meant that
they must push on another stage to the Kezane Store--the original plan,
but one which Wyndham had already recognised that Langrishe was right in
advising him to abandon; for the heat and the pace had already told on
the mules.

They would have laughed less light-heartedly, or rather they would not
have laughed at all, had they known that about a mile back, and only a
few hundred yards from the road, the bodies of Skrine and three other
men, who had fled thus far for their lives, were lying among the bushes,
their skulls smashed, and their poor faces hacked and gory beyond
recognition, stamped with the ghastly imprint of their awful
death-agony, staring upward to t