A fourth Dyak dropped.

The survivors, cruel savages but not cowards, unslung their guns. The
sailor, white-faced, grim, with an unpleasant gleam in his deep-set
eyes and a lower jaw protruding, noticed their preparations.

"To the left!" he shouted. "Run towards the trees!"

Iris heard him and strove to obey. But her strength was failing her,
and she staggered blindly. After a few despairing efforts she lurched
feebly to her knees, and tumbled face downwards on the broken coral
that had tripped her faltering footsteps.

Jenks was watching her, watching the remaining Dyaks, from whom a
spluttering volley came, picking out his quarry with the murderous ease
of a terrier in a rat-pit. Something like a bee in a violent hurry
hummed past his ear, and a rock near his right foot was struck a
tremendous blow by an unseen agency. He liked this. It would be a
battle, not a battue.

The fifth Dyak crumpled into the distortion of death, and then their
leader took deliberate aim at the kneeling marksman who threatened to
wipe him and his band out of existence. But his deliberation, though
skilful, was too profound. The sailor fired first, and was
professionally astonished to see the gaudily attired individual tossed
violently backward for many yards, finally pitching headlong to the
earth. Had he been charged by a bull in full career he could not have
been more utterly discomfited. The incident was sensational but
inexplicable.

Yet another member of the band was prostrated ere the two as yet
unscathed thought fit to beat a retreat. This they now did with
celerity, but they dragged their chief with them. It was no part of
Jenks's programme to allow them to escape. He aimed again at the man
nearest the trees. There was a sharp click and nothing more. The
cartridge was a mis-fire. He hastily sought to eject it, and the rifle
jammed. These little accidents will happen, even in a good weapon like
the Lee-Metford.

Springing to his feet with a yell he ran forward. The flying men caught
a glimpse of him and accelerated their movements. Just as he reached
Iris they vanished among the trees.

Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he picked up the girl in his
arms. She was conscious, but breathless.

"You are not hurt?" he gasped, his eyes blazing into her face with an
intensity that she afterwards remembered as appalling.

"No," she whispered.

"Listen," he continued in labored jerks. "Try and obey me--exactly. I
will ca