while it was a doubtful combat. Then, with a shout of triumph,
the chief, a swarthy, thick-set man of herculean strength, recognised
Francis and sprang upon him. The blow which he aimed would most surely
have killed him, but that Trent, with the butt-end of a rifle, broke
its force a little. Then, turning round, he blew out the man's brains as
Francis sank backwards. A dismal yell from his followers was the chief's
requiem; then they turned and fled, followed by a storm of bullets as
Trent's men found time to reload. More than one leaped into the air and
fell forward upon their faces. The fight was over, and, when they came
to look round, Francis was the only man who had suffered.

Morning had dawned even whilst they had been fighting. Little wreaths
of mist were curling upwards, and the sun shone down with a cloudless,
golden light, every moment more clear as the vapours melted away.
Francis was lying upon his face groaning heavily; the Kru boys, to whom
he was well known, were gathered in a little circle around him. Trent
brushed them on one side and made a brief examination. Then he had
him carried carefully into one of the tents while he went for his
medicine-chest.

Preparations for a start were made, but Trent was thoughtful. For the
second time within a few hours this man, in whose power it was to ruin
him, lay at his mercy. That he had saved his life went for nothing. In
the heat of battle there had been no time for thought or calculation.
Trent had simply obeyed the generous instinct of a brave man whose
blood was warm with the joy of fighting. Now it was different. Trent was
seldom sentimental, but from the first he had had an uneasy presentiment
concerning this man who lay now within his power and so near to death.
A mutual antipathy seemed to have been born between them from the first
moment when they had met in the village of Bekwando. As though it were
yesterday, he remembered that leave-taking and Francis's threatening
words. Trent had always felt that the man was his enemy--certainly the
power to do him incalculable harm, if not to altogether ruin him, was
his now. And he would not hesitate about it. Trent knew that, although
broadly speaking he was innocent of any desire to harm or desert Monty,
no power on earth would ever convince Francis of that. Appearances were,
and always must be, overwhelmingly against him. Without interference
from any one he had already formulated plans for quietly putting Mont