ent demeanor,
some followed him, and Jenks--unable to see, but listening
anxiously--knew that they were tearing the _cheval de frise_ from
its supports. Nevertheless none of the working party entered the
excavation. They feared the parched bones that shone by night.

"Poor J.S.!" murmured the sailor. "If his spirit still lingers near the
scene of his murder he will thank me for dragging him into the fray. He
fought them living and he can scare them dead."

As he had not been able to complete the communicating shaft it was not
now of vital importance should the Dyaks penetrate to the interior. Yet
he thanked the good luck that had showered such a heap of rubbish over
the spot containing his chief stores and covering the vein of gold.
Wild as these fellows were, they well knew the value of the precious
metal, and if by chance they lighted upon such a well-defined lode they
might not quit the island for weeks.

At last, on a command from the chief, the Dyaks scattered in various
directions. Some turned towards Europa Point, but the majority went to
the east along Turtle Beach or by way of the lagoon. Prospect Park was
deserted. They were scouring both sections of the island in full force.

The quiet watcher on the ledge took no needless risks. Though it was
impossible to believe any stratagem had been planned for his special
benefit an accident might betray him. With the utmost circumspection he
rose on all fours and with comprehensive glance examined trees,
plateau, and both strips of beach for signs of a lurking foe. He need
have no fear. Of all places in the island the Dyaks least imagined that
their quarry had lain all night within earshot of their encampment.

At this hour, when the day had finally conquered the night, and the
placid sea offered a turquoise path to the infinite, the scene was
restful, gently bewitching. He knew that, away there to the north, P.
and O. steamers, Messageries Maritimes, and North German Lloyd liners
were steadily churning the blue depths _en route_ to Japan or the
Straits Settlements. They carried hundreds of European passengers, men
and women, even little children, who were far removed from the
knowledge that tragedies such as this Dyak horror lay almost in their
path. People in London were just going to the theater. He recalled the
familiar jingle of the hansoms scampering along Piccadilly, the more
stately pace of the private carriages crossing the Park. Was it
possible that in t