mas, stopped at the Logans' gate. A peevish voice was heard giving
directions from within.

"It sounds like Holm," said Thwaite, walking up to it, "and upon my soul
it is Holm. What on earth are you doing here, my dear fellow?"

"Is that you, Thwaite?" said the voice. "I wish you'd help me out. I
want Logan to give me a bed for the night. I'm infernally ill."

Lewis looked within and saw a pale face and bloodshot eyes which did not
belie the words.

"What is it?" said Thwaite. "Fever or anything smashed?"

"I've got a bullet in my leg which has got to be cut out. Got it two
days ago when I was out shooting. Some natives up in the rocks did it,
I fancy. Lord, how it hurts." And the unhappy man groaned as he tried
to move.

"That's bad," said Thwaite sympathetically. "The Logans have got a
dance on, but we'll look after you all right. How did you leave things
in Forza?"

"Bad. I oughtn't to be here, but Andy insisted. He said I would only
get worse and crock entirely. Things look a bit wild up there just now.
There has been a confounded lot of rifle-stealing, and the Bada-Mawidi
are troublesome. However, I hope it's only their fun."

"I hope so," said Thwaite. "You know Haystoun, don't you?"

"Glad to meet you," said the man. "Heard of you. Coming up our way? I
hope you will after I get this beastly leg of mine better."

"Thwaite will tell you I have been cross-examining him about your place.
I wanted badly to ask you about it, for I got a letter this morning from
a man called Marker with some news for you."

"What did he say?" asked Holm sharply.

"He said that he had heard privately that the Bada-Mawidi were planning
an attack on you to-morrow or the day after."

"The deuce they are," said Holm peevishly, and Thwaite's face
lengthened.

"And he told me to find some way of letting you know."

"Then why didn't you tell me earlier?" said Thwaite. "Marker should
know if anybody does. We should have kept Holm up there. Now it's
almost too late. Oh, this is the devil!"

Lewis held his peace. He had forgotten the solidity of Marker's
reputation.

"What's the chances of the place?" Thwaite was asking. "I know your
numbers and all that, but are they anything like prepared?"

"I don't know," said Holm miserably. "They might get on all right, but
everybody is pretty slack just now. Andy has a touch of fever, and some
of the men may get leave for shooting. I must get back at once."

"You can't. Why, man, you