d the White Nile down to the
headwaters of the Fly River in the snow-mountains of Dutch New Guinea
does see a bit of life--but the way that fat chap upset himself into the
sand was the most wonderful piece of good fortune I ever came across. He
must have missed death by a fraction of an inch. I saw him fall, heard
the shot ring out and watched the sand spurt up all in the one crowded
second. The next moment I was running towards him, my hand moving
instinctively to my empty pistol-pocket. But my mind readjusted itself
in a flash, and I recollected that I wasn't dodging cannibals in the
upper reaches of the Mambare, but was living in a civilised country
where a man who carries a revolver, and gets caught at it, is fined more
money than I'd seen in the last twelve months.

The other chap seemed to divine instinctively that I was a friend, for
he yelled at me even while he was hauling himself up from the sand.

"There's one in my pocket," he shouted and gesticulated back towards his
clothes.

I didn't waste a moment, but sped over the intervening yards like a man
possessed. As luck would have it his coat was the first thing I grabbed,
and the weight of it told me at once in which pocket to look. I plunged
my hand in and drew out the sweetest little automatic it has ever been
my lot to handle. As a rule I prefer a Colt--in my experience it never
jams--but I rather fancied my present weapon would do all that was
required, so I slipped back the safety catch with my thumb and whirled
round on my heel to face whatever was coming.

The overture was already over and the invisible marksman had settled
down to steady firing. The fat man was now almost on top of me, and I
saw instantly that that brought me right into the line of fire. It takes
a long time in the telling, but, as I figured it out afterwards, from
the instant the first shot missed the old chap down to the moment I
pulled the trigger, more than half a minute could not have elapsed.

There was only one place in sight where a man could take cover, and that
was a bunch of rocks just a little to the left of my position. I let off
a fancy shot in that direction, and a second later the reply rang out.
The cliff overhead shed a shower of dust on top of the pair of us, and
the fat man crouched into the corner. I knew now where my man was, so I
waited until he exposed himself, as I saw he must do when he fired
again.

"Gimme the gun!" the fat man demanded in the interval.