dead. Damn deep that hole. Ha!"

"You'll hang all the same," I said. "You will be spoored here, and
there will be plenty of traces of what has become of me."

"No trace. We cut your throat _over_ the hole, then throw you in. Now
you go to sleep. Morning soon come."

Grinning hideously the fellow rolled his blanket round him and lay down.
Most of the others were already asleep, but it was not likely I should
follow their example or act upon the ironical suggestion of my
tormentor. Was he but trying to frighten me, I tried to think? but
then, a word here and there which I had caught, and certain significant
glances on the part of my gaolers, seemed to bear out all he had said.
They had every motive for getting rid of me, and in such wise as to
leave no trace. And here were the means all ready to their hands.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A DASH FOR IT.

Now I, Kenrick Holt, who do this tale unfold, am not by nature an
especially intrepid animal, wherefore aught in the course of this
narrative which might savour of "derring do" had better be set down to
impulse, circumstance, or, generically, accident. Further, I have
elsewhere undertaken not to spare my own weaknesses, which for present
purposes may be taken to mean that the hideous assurance just conveyed
to me had left me very badly scared indeed.

In palliation whereof consider the position. In all human certainty the
morning light would see me as ruthlessly and as helplessly butchered as
the miserable sheep which had just furnished these black cut-throats--
and incidentally myself--with an evening meal. A ghastly and horrible
fate, in sooth. It might remain shrouded in mystery, even as the
ruffian had said, but that was a mere supplementary detail which could
be of no subsequent interest to me.

Rescue? That could hardly be. Brian, at any rate, would not desert me.
But he could hardly follow up the spoor in the dark; even if he did not
credit me with sufficient bushcraft to find my way back to them by some
other track, he would never be here in time, and if he was, why, there
were twenty or more to one. No, that would be a broken reed to lean
upon. Besides, it was more than probable that my late companions would
have their own hands full.

The vindictive ruffian who had felt the weight of my foot squatted in
front of me, grinning, and every now and then passing a hand across his
throat by way of reminder. At last he too grew drowsy, and began to
n