tastic circle bound hand and
foot, but so far as he could see, at present unhurt. His face was turned
to Trent, white and a little scared, but his lips were close-set and he
uttered no sound. By his side stood a man with a native knife dancing
around and singing--all through the place were sounds of wailing and
lamentation, and in front of his hut the King was lying, with an empty
bottle by his side, drunk and motionless. Trent's anger grew fiercer
as he watched. Was this a people to stand in his way, to claim the
protection and sympathy of foreign governments against their own
bond, that they might keep their land for misuse and their bodies for
debauchery? He looked backwards and listened. As yet there was no sign
of any of his followers and there was no telling how long these antics
were to continue. Trent looked to his revolver and set his teeth. There
must be no risk of evil happening to the boy. He walked boldly out into
the little space and called to them in a loud voice.

There was a wild chorus of fear. The women fled to the huts--the men ran
like rats to shelter. But the executioner of Bekwando, who was a fetish
man and holy, stood his ground and pointed his knife at Trent. Two
others, seeing him firm, also remained. The moment was critical.

"Cut those bonds!" Trent ordered, pointing to the boy.

The fetish man waved his hands and drew a step nearer to Trent, his
knife outstretched. The other two backed him up. Already a spear was
couched.

Trent's revolver flashed out in the sunlight.

"Cut that cord!" he ordered again.

The fetish man poised his knife. Trent hesitated no longer, but shot him
deliberately through the heart. He jumped into the air and fell forward
upon his face with a death-cry which seemed to find an echo from every
hut and from behind every tree of Bekwando. It was like the knell of
their last hope, for had he not told them that he was fetish, that his
body was proof against those wicked fires and that if the white men
came, he himself would slay them! And now he was dead! The last barrier
of their superstitious hope was broken down. Even the drunken King sat
up and made strange noises.

Trent stooped down and, picking up the knife, cut the bonds which had
bound the boy. He staggered up to his feet with a weak, little laugh.

"I knew you'd find me," he said. "Did I look awfully frightened?"

Trent patted him on the shoulder. "If I hadn't been in time," he said,
"I'd have shot ever