ew no drink
more subtle than palm wine had one virtue--bravery. But civilisation
pressing upon their frontiers had brought Oom Sam greedy for ivory and
gold, and Oom Sam had bought rum and strong waters. The nerve of the
savage had gone, and his muscle had become a flaccid thing. When they
had risen from the long grass with a horrid yell and had rushed in upon
the hated intruders with couched spears only to be met by a blinding
fire of Lee-Metford and revolver bullets their bravery vanished like
breath from the face of a looking-glass. They hesitated, and a rain of
bullets wrought terrible havoc amongst their ranks. On every side the
fighting-men of Bekwando went down like ninepins--about half a dozen
only sprang forward for a hand-to-hand fight, the remainder, with
shrieks of despair, fled back to the shelter of the forest, and not one
of them again ever showed a bold front to the white man. Trent, for a
moment or two, was busy, for a burly savage, who had marked him out by
the light of the gleaming flames, had sprung upon him spear in hand, and
behind him came others. The first one dodged Trent's bullet and was upon
him, when the boy shot him through the cheek and he went rolling over
into the fire, with a death-cry which rang through the camp high above
the din of fighting, another behind him Trent shot himself, but the
third was upon him before he could draw his revolver and the two rolled
over struggling fiercely, at too close quarters for weapons, yet with
the thirst for blood fiercely kindled in both of them. For a moment
Trent had the worst of it--a blow fell upon his forehead (the scar of
which he never lost) and the wooden club was brandished in the air for
a second and more deadly stroke. But at that moment Trent leaped up,
dashed his unloaded revolver full in the man's face and, while he
staggered with the shock, a soldier from behind shot him through the
heart. Trent saw him go staggering backwards and then himself sank down,
giddy with the blow he had received. Afterwards he knew that he must
have fainted, for when he opened his eyes the sun was up and the men
were strolling about looking at the dead savages who lay thick in the
grass. Trent sat up and called for water.

"Any one hurt?" he asked the boy who brought him some. The boy grinned,
but shook his head.

"Plenty savages killed," he said, "no white man or Kru boy."

"Where's Mr. Davenant," Trent asked suddenly.

The boy looked round and shook hi