THE MAN-EATER

BY

EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS

“The Man-Eater” was first published in THE NEW YORKEVENING WORLD newspaper on November 15, 16, 17, 18,19, and 20, 1915. The first hardcover edition waspublished in 1957 by Science-Fiction & FantasyPublications (along with “Beyond Thirty”).

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THE MAN-EATER——————PROLOGUE

A NATIVE woman working in thelittle cultivated patch just outside thepalisade which surrounded themission was the first to see them. Herscream penetrated to the living roomof the little thatched bungalow wherethe Reverend Sangamon Morton satbefore a table, an open tin box beforehim and a sheaf of preferred stockcertificates in his hands.

The Reverend Morton hadheard such screams before.Sometimes they meant nothing.Again they might mean the presenceof an inquisitive and savage junglevisitor of the order of carnivora. Butthe one thing always uppermost inhis mind — the one great, abidingterror of their lives there in the midstof the savage jungle — was now, asalways, the first and naturalexplanation of the woman’s screamsto leap to his mind. The Wakandashad come at last!

The missionary leaped to hisfeet, thrust the papers into a longmanila envelope, placed them in thetin box and closed the cover as hehastened across the room to the widefireplace. Here he kneeled andremoved a flag stone from the hearth,slipped the box quickly into theaperture revealed beneath, rose,snatched a rifle from its hook overthe mantle and rushed out into thecompound. The whole thing hadtaken but a fraction of the timerequired to tell it.

In another room of thebungalow Mary Morton, themissionary’s wife, and Ruth, hisdaughter, had heard the scream, and

they, too, ran out into the compound.The Reverend Sanga-mon Mortonfound them there when he arrived,and calling to them to return to thebungalow, sped on toward thepalisade gate, through which werenow streaming the score of womenand children who had been workingin the garden.

Some native men were alsohastening toward the gate from theirvarious duties about the mission,converted heathen armed withancient Enfields. The women whohad first screamed and whose shrillcry of terror had aroused the peacefullittle community now fell to her kneesbefore the Reverend Morton.

“Oh, sabe me, massa!” shecried. “Sabe me from de Wakandas!De Wakands hab came!”

Morton brushed past her andhurried to the gate. He would have alook at the enemy first. The ReverendMorton was not a man to be easilystampeded. He had answered to falsealarms in the past, and though henever permitted the cry of “Wolf!” tofind him unready for the inevitabletime when it should prove a true cryhe was prone to scepticism until heshould have the substantiatingtestimony of his own eyes.

Now, as he passed through thegate, his first glance at theapproaching “enemy” brought a sighof relief to his lips. Coming out of thejungle were strange black men, it wastrue — warriors armed with spears,and even guns — but with themmarched two white men, and at thesight of the pith helmets and thesmoke from two briar pipes a broadsmile touched the lips of theReverend Sangamon Morton.

The smile expanded into a

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good-natured laugh as he advancedto welcome the strangers and explainto them the panic into which theirunheralded appearance had thrownhis little community.

And so came Jefferson Scott,Jr., and his boon companion, RobertGordon, to the little AmericanMethodist mission in the heart of theAfrican jungle. And there one ofthem, young Scott, found a wife inthe missionary’s daughter, Ruth.Robert Gordon remained for a monthafter the missionary had performedthe simple ceremony that made hisdaughter Mrs. Jefferson Scott, Jr.Gordon was best man at the wedding,and with Mrs. Morton witnessed themarriage certificate.

The two young Americans hadcome to Africa to hunt big game.Jefferson Scott, Jr., remained to casthis lot with his wife’s people in theirunselfish work among the natives.Gordon bade them goodbye at last toreturn to his home in New York, andthe evening before his departure theReverend Mr. Morton called him intothe living room, removed theflagstone from the hearth, and,reaching in, opened the tin box andwithdrew a large manila envelope.

“I wish, Mr. Gordon,” he said,“that you would deliver this into thekeeping of Jefferson’s father. Itcontains practically the entire fortunewhich I inherited from my father andfor which I have no use here, butwhich, in the event of anythingbefalling me, would be of inestimablevalue to Mrs. Morton and Ruth. It isnot safe here. The Wakandas, ifrumor is to be credited, are preparingto revolt against the Belgianauthorities, and if they do we shallhave to leave here and cross nearly

half the continent of Africa to safety.“Under such circumstances

these valuable papers would but addto my anxiety and worries, and so Iask you to take them to Mr. Scott forsafety until my mission here isfulfilled and we all return toAmerica.”

And so Robert Gordon badethem farewell and started upon hisjourney to America, the manilaenvelope safe in his inside pocket.

A year later a little girl wasborn to Ruth Morton Scott — a littlegirl whom they christened Virginia,after the commonwealth of which herfather was a native son.

When Virginia was a year old itcame — the hideous thing that wasoften uppermost in the minds of allthat little band isolated in the heartof the savage jungle. The Wakandasrevolted.

Lieutenant De Boes heard thechallenge of a sentry at the gate.Languidly he looked in the directionof the sounds and inwardlyanathematized whatever fool might bemoving about in such insufferableheat. Presently he saw one of hisnoncommissioned officersapproaching with a naked savage.The stranger was sweat-streaked andpanting. his eyes were wide in terror.The corporal brought him before theofficer, saluting. Lieutenant De Boesnoted excitement in his soldier’sexpression.

“What now?” he asked,returning the salute.

“The Wakandas are upon thewarpath,” reported the subordinate.“This fellow says that they killednearly all within the village and thenstarted for the mission where theAmericans are.”

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Lieutenant De Boes sat upquickly and, leaning forward towardthe news-bringer, fired question afterquestion at him. When he hadsatisfied himself that the man did notlie he leaped to his feet. All thoughtsof heat or lassitude were gone. Hegave a quiet sharp order to thecorporal, and as that soldier ranacross the parade ground to thebeehive barracks De Boes ran indoorsand donned his marching togs andhis side arms.

Thirty minutes later a littlecompany of fifty blacks in commandof a single Belgian lieutenant filedthrough the factory gate and took uptheir march against a warlike tribewhich numbered perhaps a thousandspears.

Once again came the terrifiedshriek of a native to the ears of thedwellers within the mission. Onceagain the men within ran toward thegates - ready but doubting. JeffersonScott, Jr. was first among them, forhe was younger and could run fasterthan his father-in-law. And this timethe wolf had come.

The Wakandas were at thegates by the time the two white menhad reached them. The ReverendSangamon Morton fell, piercedthrough the breast by a heavy warspear before ever he could fire a shotin defense of his loved ones.

Scott, reinforced by the handfulof men converts who lived within themission enclosure, repelled the firstcharge, his heavy express rifle anddeadly accuracy sending the blacksback toward the jungle, where theyleaped and shouted until they workedthemselves into a sufficient hysteriato warrant another assault. Time andagain the ebon horde swooped down

upon the gates. Time and again thehandful of defenders drove themback. Yet it was without hope thatJefferson Scott, Jr. fought. He knewwhat must be the inevitable outcome.Already his own ammunition wasexhausted and there was but littlemore good powder available for theEnfields.

They might hold out anotherday, but what good would thataccomplish? It would be but to deferthe final frightful moment. If theycould but get word to the Belgianofficer and his little command over onthe Uluki. Scott questioned hiscompanions as to the feasibility ofgetting a runner through to thefactory. It was impossible, they said,as the whole country between themission and the Belgians would beover-run by Wakandas by this time.Not one would volunteer to attemptthe journey. They had fought bravelyat his side, but none dared ventureamong the Wakandas, the verymention of whose name filled themwith unreasonable terror.

But it was the only hope thatScott had. He must get word to thefactory. If his blacks were afraid tobear it he must do so himself. hisonly hesitancy in the matter was thethought of leaving his young wife andbaby daughter to the sole protectionof the native converts. During a lullin the fighting he returned to thebungalow and placed the mattersquarely before his wife and hermother.

“You must go, Jefferson,” saidthe older woman. “I can take yourplace at the gates. The men love me, Iknow, and will fight for me and Ruthas bravely as though you remained. Iwill remain beside them and give

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them the moral support they need,and if there is a spare musket I canuse that, too.”

And so it was that as soon asnight had fallen Jefferson Scott, Jr.slipped into the jungle upon hisuseless mission — useless, because anative had already carried thewarning to De Boes.

Scott never reached the factory,nor did he ever return to the mission.Only the Wakandas know what hisfate was.

De Boes and his soldiersarrived at the mission early in themorning after an all-night march.They came upon the rear of theWakandas just as the savages madetheir last and successful charge. Ascore or more of the howling demonshad scaled the gates and were amongthe defenders as the rifles of theBelgian’s black soldiers volleyed intotheir rear. The Wakandas, takenwholly by surprise, broke and fled.

Inside the mission defenses DeBoes found a dozen dead, and amongthem the body of courageous MaryMorton, lying just within the gates. Inthe bungalow Ruth Scott stood with arifle in her hands, before the cradle ofher little daughter — bereft in asingle day of father, mother, andhusband. The kindly and courteousBelgian helped her bury her dead,and sent out parties into the jungle insearch of Scott, keeping them outuntil fear that he had been killedbecame a certainty. Then heconducted the mother and child backto the factory and from therearranged for their conveyance to thecoast. Two months later Ruth Scottand little Virginia arrived at theVirginia homestead of the widowedand now childless Jefferson Scott —

the father of her dead husband.When, a year before, Jefferson

Scott had learned of his son’smarriage, he had not beendispleased, though the idea of the boyremaining in Africa was notaltogether to his liking. Then hadcome Robert Gordon withenthusiastic descriptions of the newdaughter-in-law and her parents, andJefferson Scott began to long for thereturn of his son and the coming ofhis son’s wife to brighten the sombrelife of the old mansion.

Gordon had delivered a longmanila envelope into the elder Scott’skeeping. “Mr. Morton felt that itwould be safer here than in Africa,”he explained. “It contains aconsiderable fortune in stocks, if Iunderstood him correctly.”

Then, after a long year, hadcome the news of the Wakandauprising and the death of his son andthe Mortons. Immediately JeffersonScott cabled funds to his daughter-in-law, together with instructionsthat she come at once to him. Thatsame night he took the long manilaenvelope from his safe to examine thecontents, that he might have thenecessary legal steps taken to insurethe proper transfer of the certificatesto Ruth Scott’s name.

The manila of the wrapper wasof unusual thickness, giving anappearance of bulk to the packagethat was deceptive, for when heopened it Jefferson Scott discoveredbut a single paper within. As hewithdrew this and examined it apuzzled smile touched his lips. For amoment he sat regarding thedocument in his hand, then he shookhis head and returned it to theenvelope.

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He did not place it again in thesafe, but carrying it upstairs openedan old fashioned wall cupboard,withdrew a tin box from it, placed theenvelope in the tin box, and returnedit to the cupboard.

Two months later he welcomedRuth Morton to his fireside, and fromthat moment until his death she wasas an own daughter to him, sharinghis love with her little Virginia, whomJefferson Scott idolized.

And in the nineteen years thatintervened it is doubtful if the manilaenvelope or its contents ever againentered the mind of the grandfather.

CHAPTER I

THE closed door of the bedroomopened. A bent and white-haired oldnegro walked slowly out, his faceburied in a red bandanna and hisshrunken shoulders heaving to thesobs he could not control. Down atthe negroes’ quarters the banjoes andthe old melodeon were stilled. Eventhe little piccaninies sat with hushedvoices and tearful mien. In the bigfront bedroom of the mansion twowomen knelt beside a bed, their facesburied in the coverlet, weeping. Therewere tears, too, in the eyes of the olddoctor, and even stern old JudgeSperry blew his great beak of a nosewith unnecessary vigor as he walkedto the window and looked out acrossthe broad acres of his lifetime friend.Jefferson Scott was dead.

That night Scott Taylor, the sonof Jefferson Scott’s dead sister,arrived from New York. Virginia Scotthad met him several times in thepast, when a child, he had visited hisuncle. She knew but little of his pastlife, other than that Jefferson Scott

had paid on two occasions to keephim out of jail and that of recentyears the old man had refused tohave any intercourse whatever withhis nephew.

Taylor was a couple of yearsher senior, a rather good lookingman, notwithstanding the marks ofdissipation that marred his features.He was college bred, suave anddistinctly at ease in any company.Had she known less of him VirginiaScott might easily have esteemed himhighly, but, knowing what she did,she felt only disgust for him. hiscoming at this time she looked uponas little less than brazen effrontery,for he had been forbidden the houseby Jefferson Scott several yearsbefore, nor since then had he oncecommunicated with his uncle. Thathe had returned now in hope oflegacy she knew as well as though hehad candidly announced the fact,and it was with difficulty that sheaccorded him even the scantestcourtesy in her greeting.

Judge Sperry, who wassearching among Jefferson Scott’spapers in the library when Taylorarrived, took one look at him over thetops of his glasses, a look that passedslowly from his face down to hisboots, ignoring his proffered handand returned to his search without afurther acknowledgement of theyounger man’s existence.

Taylor flushed, shrugged hisshoulders and turned back toVirginia, but Virginia had left theroom. He fidgeted about, his ease ofmanner a trifle jarred, for a momentor two, and then recovering his poise,addressed Judge Sperry.

“Did my uncle leave a will?” heasked.

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“He made a will, sir,” snappedthe Judge, “about a year ago, sir, inwhich you were not mentioned, sir.He has made no other, that I know of.If I were you, sir, I should return toNew York. There is nothing here foryou.”

Taylor half smiled.“I take it you are looking for the

will,” he said. “Well, I’ll just stickaround until you find it. If you don’tfind it I inherit half the property —whether you want me to or not.”

Judge Sperry vouchsafed noreply, and presently Taylor left theroom, wandered out across thegrounds and down the road towardthe little village, where, if there wereno acquaintances, there was at leastsomething to drink.

Later in the evening, fortified byseveral Kentucky bourbons, hereturned, nor could Virginia’s motherbring herself to refuse him theordinary hospitalities of that oldVirginian home, and so he remained,following the body of his uncle to thegrave with the other members of thefamily, the friends and the servants.

And after the funeral he stayedon, watching with as eager eyes asthe rest the futhe search for the lastwill and testament of Jefferson Scott,but with homes diametrically atvariance with theirs. Naturally he sawmuch of Virginia, though not asmuch as he should have liked to see.He found that the little girl he hadknown years before had grown into abeautiful young woman — and whileit angered him to realize the contemptin which she held him, he was not sowanting in egotism but that hebelieved he might win his wayeventually into her good graces. Forthis reason he never reverted to the

subject of the will. He did his best toimpress upon Virginia and hermother that his one object inremaining thus away from hisbusiness was in the hope that hemight prove of some service to themnow that he upon whom they bothhad leaned for advice and protectionhad been taken away from them.Mrs. Scott was beginning to toleratehim and Virginia to feel sorry for him,yet both could not but look forwardwith feelings of relief to the meeting ofthe administrators which was to beheld in the library of the Scott housethe following morning. They felt thatthe action then taken would decidetheir status legally and render thefurther presence of Scott Taylorunnecessary. That it had beenJefferson Scott’s intention thatVirginia should inherit his entireestate they both knew, and wereequally positive that theadministrators would adopt everylegal means to carry out thegrandfather’s expressed wish. JudgeSperry had explained Taylor’s legalrights in the event that no will shouldbe discovered, nor was Virginia at alldesirous of attempting to reduce theamount that might be legally his.

It was the evening before themeeting. Taylor had gone to town inthe afternoon. Mrs. Scott had alreadyretired and Virginia sat reading in thelibrary when Scott Taylor entered. Asthe girl greeted him civilly her eyestook in his flushed face and unsteadycarriage and she saw that he hadbeen drinking more than usually.Then she let her eyes fall again to herbook.

Taylor crossed the room andstood where he could watch herprofile. For several moments he did

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not speak, then he came closer andtook a chair directly in front of her.The effect of her beauty upon hisdrink-excited passions caused him tothrow diplomacy and caution to thewinds.

“Look here, Virginia,” he said,leaning forward toward herunsteadily.

The girl looked up in politequestioning, but there was a warninglight in her eye that a more soberman than Scott Taylor would havediscerned and heeded.

“Yes?” The rising inflection wasaccompanied by a raising of thearched brows.

“Why not be friends, Virginia?”Taylor continued. “We’re both of usdue for a share of the old man’sproperty. It amounts to a big bunchof coin, but it’s mostly in farm lands.It ought not to be cut up. We ought tokeep it intact. I got a scheme.” Heedged his chair closer until theirknees all but touched. “We’re aboutthe same age. I’m not such a bad sortwhen you know me, and you’re apeach. I always knew it, and this timeI’ve discovered something else — Ilove you.” He was leaning so farforward now that his face was closeto hers.

The girl’s eyes were wide inastonishment and disgust. She roseslowly and drew herself up to her fullheight.

“I would not, for the world,” shesaid, “intentionally wound any manwho came to me with an avowal ofhonest love; but I do not believe thatyou love me, and, further, themanner of your coming to me is allinsult.”

Taylor had risen and was facingher. If possible she was even more

beautiful in anger than in repose. hisself-control vanished before the scornin her eyes and in her voice.

“You call learn to love me,” hemuttered, and seized her in his arms.Virginia struggled, but he crushedher closer to him until his lips wereabove hers. With all effort almostsuperhuman the girl succeeded incovering Taylor’s face with her openpalm and pushing him from her.Unsteady from drink, the manstaggered back against the chair hehad left, toppled over it and fell in aheap upon the floor.

When, after an effort, hemanaged to crawl to his feet, Virginiahad disappeared. Taylor sank to theedge of a chair, his face contortedwith rage and humiliation. He wasnot so intoxicated but that he nowrealized the fool he had made ofhimself and the ridiculous figure hemust have cut reeling drunkenly overthe chair. his rage, instead of beingdirected against himself as it shouldhave been, was all for Virginia. Hewould make her pay! He would havehis revenge. She should be leftpenniless, if there was any way,straight or crooked, to accomplish it.And in this pleasant mood ScottTaylor made his unsteady way to bed.

It was late when Taylor awokethe following morning. Already theadministrators had gathered withMrs. Scott and Virginia in the library.It was several minutes before theman could recall to memory theevents of the previous evening. Asthey filtered slowly through hisbefogged brain a slow flush of angercrept over his face. Then he recalledthe meeting that had been scheduledfor today. He glanced at his watch. Itwas already past time. Springing up

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he dressed hastily, and left his room.Half way down the stairs he heardvoices coming from the library below.He paused to listen. Judge Sperrywas speaking.

“Jefferson Scott never intendedthat that young scalawag shouldhave one cent’s worth of hisproperty,” he was saying. “He told meupon several occasions that he wouldnot have his money dissipated inriotous living, and by gad, gentlemen,if I have anything to say about itJefferson Scott’s wishes shall beobserved,” and he pounded the blackwalnut table with a heavy fist.

“I think,” spoke up anothervoice, “that when the simple proofsnecessary to establish legally MissVirginia’s relationship to GeneralScott have been produced it will be acomparatively simple matter toarrange the thing as he would havewished it.”

“Simple proofs necessary toestablish legally Miss Virginia’srelationship to General Scott!” Thewords ran through Scott Taylor’sbrain almost meaninglessly at first,and then slowly a great light brokeupon him, his eyes went wide and hislip curled in an ironical smile.

A moment later he entered thelibrary. his manner was easy andconfident. He sneered just a little asVirginia deliberately turned hershoulder toward him. A vast silencefell upon the company as he joinedthem. He was the first to break it.

“I am glad,” he said, “that wecan now straighten out a few mattersthat have been causing several of younot a little annoyance.” He glanceddefiantly at Judge Sperry. “JeffersonScott, my uncle, died intestate. Underthe circumstances, and the law, I

inherit — I am the sole heir.”Mrs. Scott and the

administrators looked at the youngman in surprise — Virginia kept herback toward him. For several secondsthere was unbroken silence — thebald effrontery of Taylor’s statementhad taken even Judge Sperry’s breathaway — but not for long.

“Sole heir?” shouted the oldman presently. “Sole heir? Solenothing! You don’t deserve a penny ofyour uncle’s estate, and you don’t geta penny of it, if I can prevent it.”

“But you can’t prevent it, myfriend,” Taylor assured him coolly.“You can’t prevent it because, as Ijust said, I am the sole heir.”

“I presume,” bellowed theJudge, “that you have more rightshere than General Scott’sgranddaughter?”

“He had no legitimategranddaughter,” replied Taylor, thesneering laugh on his lips speakingmore truly the purport of hisinsinuation than even the plainwords he had used.

“What? You young scoundrel!”cried Judge Sperry, springing to hisfeet and taking a step toward Taylor.

“Don’t get excited,” said Taylor.“Of course it’s unfortunate that itbecame necessary to touch upon thismatter, but I gave Miss Virginia anopportunity to compromise last night,which she refused, and so there isnothing else for me to do but insistupon my rights. It’s a very simplematter to rectify if I am not mistaken.All that Mrs. Scott need do is produceher marriage certificate, or therecords of the local authorities whereher wedding took place. And now,until she can establish the right ofher daughter to make any legal claim

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whatsoever upon the estate of myuncle, I shall have to ask you all tovacate the premises and leave me inpossession of what is mine and noone else’s.”

The administrators turnedtoward Mrs. Scott. She shook herhead sadly.

“You all know, of course, aswell as he does, that his charges areas false as they are infamous,’’ shesaid. “I was married in the heart ofCentral Africa. Whatever recordsthere were of the ceremony have longsince been destroyed, I fear; and Ifear also that it may be a difficultthing to legally prove my marriage.Robert Gordon of New York was oneof the witnesses. If he still lives Ipresume an affidavit from him wouldbe sufficient?” She glanced at JudgeSperry.

“It would,” he assured her,“and in the mean time I intend tokick this miserable little puppy intothe road.” And he advanced uponTaylor.

It was Mrs. Scott who steppedin front of the Judge.

“No, my dear friend,” she said,“we must not do that. He had,possibly, legal if not moral right uponhis side, for until I can prove thelegality of my marriage he is in theeyes of the law the sole heir. And inthe meantime Virginia and I shallmake our preparations and leavehere as quickly as possible.”

“You will do nothing of thesort,” exploded the Judge. “You willstay right here. If you leave it will bea tacit admission of the truth of a lie.I won’t hear of your leaving, not for amoment. If any one leaves, thisrascally blackleg will be the one togo.”

“No,” spoke up Virginia. “I shallnot leave. The Judge is right.”

“As you will,” said Taylor. “Ican’t kick a couple women out of myhome if they insist on remaining.”

“You’d better not,” growled theJudge.

It was not until afternoon thatMrs. Scott found an opportunity topen a note to Robert Gordon. She hadnot seen her husband’s old friendsince that day twenty-one yearsbefore that she had waved himfarewell from the veranda of thebungalow within the palisade of hermission home. He had stopped inLondon on his way to America, metand married an English girl, andthereafter for long years had spentmuch time in England or in travel. Ithad not been until after the death ofhis wife that he had returned to NewYork permanently.

As Mrs. Scott finished the letteran automobile whirled up thedriveway and came to a stop beforethe mansion. Women’s voices floatedin to her and to Virginia to whom shehad been reading the completedletter. The latter walked over to theopen doors, where she glanced out,and then, turning to her mother withan “Oh, it’s Mrs. Clayton andCharlotte!” ran out to greet visitors.

Mrs. Scott, as thoroughlyimbued with Southern hospitality asa native daughter, dropped her letterupon the desk and followed Virginiato the porch, where she found herfriends insisting that she and Virginiaaccompany them on a drive to thevillage. As it was too warm for wrapsneither mother nor daughterreturned to the house, and only tooglad of an interruption to the sorrowsand worries that had recently

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overwhelmed them, entered themachine of the Clayton’s and amoment later were whirling down theroad in a cloud of dust.

Scott Taylor, who had beenstrolling about the plantation,returned to the house shortly afterthey had left and entering throughthe French windows of the library,chanced to note the open letter lyingon the desk. It required nosubjugation of ethical scruples uponhis part to pick the letter up and readit.

The letter ran:

MY DEAR MR. GORDON:My husband’s father, Jefferson Scott,

has just passed away, and as certain legalrequirements necessitate a proof of mymarriage to Jefferson I am writing to ask thatyou mail an affidavit to Judge Sperry, of thisvillage, to the effect that you witnessed theceremony.

My marriage certificate is, I imagine,still in the tin box beneath the hearth of themission bungalow where father always kepthis valuables, but as even it may have beendestroyed during the second uprising of theWakandas I imagine that we shall have todepend entirely upon your affidavit. Iunderstand that the savages left no stonestanding upon another, and that every stickor timber was burned. That was eighteenyears ago — a year after the massacre inwhich Jefferson, father and mother wereslain, and so it is rather doubtful if anythingremains of the certificate.

I am particularly anxious to legallyestablish the authenticity of my marriage,not so much because of the property whichmy daughter Virginia will inherit thereby, asfrom the fact that another heir hasquestioned my daughter’s legitimacy.

I write thus plainly to you because ofthe love I know that you and Jefferson felt forone another, as well as to impress upon youmy urgent need of this affidavit, which youalone can furnish.

Very sincerely,RUTH MORTON SCOTTScottsville, Va.

July 10, 19__.

“H’m,” commented Mr. ScottTaylor, with a laugh. “Well, I can letthis letter go forward with perfectsafety, as I happen to know thatRobert Gordon, Esq., died two yearsago.”

CHAPTER II

MR. DICK Gordon of New York, rich,indolent and bored, tossed hismorning paper aside, yawned, rosefrom the breakfast table and strolledwearily into the living room of hisbachelor apartments. his man, whowas busying himself about the room,looked up at his masterquestioningly.

“I am wondering, Murphy,”announced that young man, “whatthe devil we are going to do toassassinate time today.”

“Well, sir,” replied Murphy,“you know you sort o’ promised Mr.Jones as how you’d make up a four-flush at the Country Club thismorning, sir.”

“Foursome, Murphy,foursome!” laughed Gordon, andthen, shooting a sharp glance at hisservant; “I believe you were handingme one that time, you old fraud.”

But the solemn-visagedMurphy shook his head in humbleand horrified denial.

“All right, Murphy; get mythings out. I suppose I might as welldo that as anything,” resignedly.

Languidly, Mr. Dick Gordondonned his golf togs and stood at lastcorrectly clothed and with the faithfulMurphy at his heels bearing hiscaddie bag. He crossed the livingroom toward the door of the

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apartment, halted half way andturned upon his servant.

“Golf’s an awful bore, Murphy,”he said. “Let’s not play today.”

“But Mr. Jones, sir!” exclaimedMurphy.

“Oh, Jones’s foursomes alwaysstart at the nineteenth hole and nevermake the first. They’ll not miss me.”

his eyes fell upon a tennisracket, and lighted with a newinterest.

“Say, Murphy, we haven’tplayed tennis in a coon’s age,” heexclaimed. “Go put those clubs away.I’m going to play tennis.”

“With yourself, sir?” questionedMurphy. “I never saw no one playingtennis at the club, sir, of a morning.”

“I guess you’re right, Murphy,and anyway I don’t want to playtennis. Tiresome game, tennis.”

“Yes, sir.”“Ha! I have it! Great morning

for a ride. Hustle, you old snail, andfetch my things. Telephone Billy andtell him to bring Redcoat around. Geta move on!”

By the time Murphy hadattended to the various dutiesassigned him and returned from thetelephone he found his young mastersitting on the edge of a chair with oneboot on and the other half so, staringhard at the floor, a weary expressionon his face.

“Can I help you, sir?” askedMurphy.

“Yes, you can help me take offthis boot. It’s too hot to ride, andbesides I don’t want to ride anyway.What the devil did you suggest ridingfor, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”“I wish that you would say no,

sir, for a change, Murphy. You’re

getting to be a terrific bore in your oldage. Go and tell Billy to never mindRedcoat.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Murphy, buthe did not go.

“You’d better hurry, Murphy,and catch him before he leaves thestables,” suggested Gordon after amoment, in which he had divestedhimself of his riding breeches andstarted to pull on the trousers of astreet suit.

“It won’t be necessary, sir,” saidMurphy. “I didn’t telephone forRedcoat in the first place, sir. I knewas how you would change your mind,sir, and thought it wouldn’t be worthwhile calling up, sir.”

Gordon cocked his head on oneside and surveyed his servant fromhead to foot for a long moment. “Yes,sir,” he said, at last.

Clothed again he wanderedback into the living room, wishingthat there was something in theworld to hold his interest for amoment. The photograph of ahandsome woman caught his eye. Hepicked it up and looked at it forseveral seconds.

“She photographs well,” hemurmured, “and that is about all onecan say for her. I’ll bet an X-ray ofher brain wouldn’t show threeconvolutions.”

Then he passed to another, thepicture of a young debutante atwhose feet were half the eligiblemales of New York Society — and allthe ineligible. He tossed thephotographs aside in disgust. One byone he examined others. All weariedhim. Everything wearied him.

“I wish,” he remarked, turningtoward Murphy, “that there wassomething or some one on earth that

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could raise my temperature over halfa degree.”

“Yes, sir,” said Murphy. “Thatmust be the mail man, sir,” as anelectric bell rang in the rear of theapartment and Murphy turnedtoward the door.

A moment later he re-enteredwith a bundle of letters in his hand,laying them on Gordon’s desk. Theyoung man picked up the topenvelope and opened it.

“Mrs. R___ requests thepleasure —” he read, half aloud, anddropped the invitation listlessly uponthe desk to pick up and open thenext. “The Blank Club announces —The Blank Club is always announcingtiresome things,” he sighed, anddropped the communication into thewaste basket. “Mrs. F. Benton J___and Miss J___ will be at home ___which is a dang sight more than Mr.F. Benton J___ can ever say,”commented Mr. Gordon, gathering upthe next, which proved to be anotherinvitation. One after another theyoung man opened the envelopes, nordid any succeed in erasing the boredexpression from his countenance.The last he glanced at with a fainttinge of curiosity before opening. Thefeminine hand writing wasunfamiliar, which was nothingunusual, but the postmark it wasthat drew his interest — Scottsville,Virginia.

“Now, who the devil do I knowin Scottsville, Virginia?” he askedhimself as he drew his paper knifethrough the flap of the envelope. “Oh,it’s addressed to Dad!” he exclaimed,suddenly noting his father’s nameupon the envelope. “Dear old Dad,”sighed the young man; “I neverlacked bully good company when you

were alive, and I didn’t know thenwhat it meant to be bored. I wonder ifyou know how I miss you.”

He turned first to the signatureat the close of the letter. “RuthMorton Scott,” he read. “H’m I’veheard Dad speak of you, andJefferson Scott, Jr., your husband,and the tragedy at the mission. Lord,what an awful place that must havebeen for a young girl! It was badenough three years ago when Dadand I camped among its ruins; buttwenty years ago the country musthave been awful for white women.”

As Dick Gordon read the letterthrough slowly his face reflected forthe first time in days a real interest.Toward the close he mutteredsomething that sounded like“Damned cad,” and then he carefullyre-read the letter. After the secondreading he sat upon the edge of hisdesk, the letter still in the hand thathad dropped to his knee, and staredfixedly and unseeingly at the barbaricpatterns of the Navajo rug at his feet.For ten minutes he sat thus; then hesprang up, animation reflected uponhis face and determination in hisevery movement. Weariness andlassitude had been swept away as bymagic. Seating himself at the desk hedrew writing materials from a drawerand for ten minutes more was busilyengaged in framing a letter. This donehe rang for Murphy.

“Skip out and post this, you oldtortoise,” he shouted, “and then goand book passage for the two of us onthe first boat that sails direct ormakes good connections forMombasa — do you know where itis?”

“Yes, sir; Africa, sir,” replied theimperturbable Murphy, in as matter

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of fact a tone as though White Plainswas to have been their destination.

Mr. Dick Gordon always hadbeen an impulsive young man, hissaving characteristic being an innatefineness of character that directed hisimpulses into good channels, if notalways wisely chosen ones. his letterto Mrs. Scott had been written uponthe impulse of the moment — animpulse to serve his father’s friendcoupled with a longing for adventureand action — for a change from themonotony of his useless existence.

The following day, as ScottTaylor, mounted upon General Scott’sfavorite saddle horse, rode leisurelyabout “my plantation,” as he nowdescribed the Scott estate, hechanced to meet the little wagon ofthe Rural Free Delivery carriercoming from town.

“Anything for The Oaks?” heasked, reining in.

The man handed him a packetof letters and papers, clucked to hisbony old horse and drove on. Taylorran through the letters. There wasone that interested him — it bore thename and address of Richard Gordonon the flap. This he thrust into hisinside pocket. Then he rode up thedriveway, turned his horse over to anegro, and entered the library. It wasempty, and laying the balance of themail upon the table he made his wayto his own room. Here he quicklyopened and read Gordon’s letter toMrs. Scott. his eyes narrowed and hisbrows contracted with the reading ofthe last paragraph: “Father has beendead two years; but I know all aboutthe location of the mission, as Ivisited it three years ago while lionhunting with him. As I am just aboutto leave for Africa again I shall make

it a point to recover the papers youwish.”

Taylor crumpled the letterangrily in his hand. “The fool!” hemuttered, “what does he want to buttin for?”

Then came a knock upon thedoor and Taylor hastily crammed theletter into the pocket of his coat.

“Come in!” he snapped, and anold negress entered with fresh towelsand bed linen. As she moved in herslow and deliberate way about herduties Taylor sat with puckeredbrows and narrowed lids gazingthrough the window. It was not untilthe woman had left the room that hearose. Now he seemed to havereached a decision that demandedrapid action. He snatched off hiscoat, throwing it across the bed,where it dropped over the side to thefloor beyond. his trousers he flung onthe floor; his shirt, collar and tieupon the center table, and in fifteenminutes he was dressed in fresh linenand another suit and cramming hisbelongings into his bag.

Running downstairs and out tothe stables, he shouted to a hostler toharness the team and take him to thestation. Mrs. Scott and Virginia hadthe car out, so he was forced tocontent himself with the slowermethod of transportation. Forty-fiveminutes later he boarded anorthbound train for New York, andlate that night rang the bell of anapartment in West One Hundred andForty-Fifth Street.

A bleached blonde in a greenkimono opened the door in responseto his ring.

“Why, hello, kid!” she criedwhen the dim light in the hallwayrevealed his features to her. “You’re

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just in time for a snifter. Where youbeen keepin’ yourself? Jim and mewere talkin’ about you not fiveminutes ago. Come on in; the gang’sall here,” and she grasped him by thelapel of his coat, drew him into thehall and slammed the door.

“I’ve been doing the rural,”replied Taylor with a laugh; “and,take it for me, it’s mighty good to beback again where there are some liveones.”

He preceded the girl into thedining room of the little apartment,where two men, seated at the diningtable with a deck of cards, a bottle ofScotch, a syphon and three glassesrose as he entered and greeted himwith a noisy welcome.

“Well, well! Little ol’ kid backagain!” cried one.

“Hello, Jim! Hello, Bill!” criedTaylor, grasping their outstretchedhands. “You sure look good to me.”

“Get another glass, Blanche,”Jim called to the girl. “Sit in, kid, andwe’ll have a little round o’ roodle —dollar limit — whatd’yu say?”

“Piker game,” sneered Taylor,with a grin. “I’m dealing in millions,just now. Throw your cards in thegoboon and listen to me, if you wantto make a hundred thou apiece.” Hepaused to note the effect of hisremark.

“Quick, Blanche!” cried JIm.“Get the poor devil a drink. Can’t yousee he’s dying of thirst and gonebug?”

Taylor grinned. “I’m sure dyingof thirst alright,” he admitted, “butI’m not bug. Now listen — here’s how,thanks! — you guys are broke. Youalways have been and always will betill you stop piking. Once in a whileyou pull down a couple of simoleons

and then sweat blood for a week or sofor fear you’ll be pinched and get acouple of years on the Island. I’ve gota real proposition here; but it’s aman’s job, though there isn’t anychance of a comeback because we’llpull it off where there’s no lamp postsand no law.”

He paused and eyed hiscompanions.

“Spiel!” said Bill.Taylor narrated the events that

had taken place during the pastweek.

“And now,” he concluded, “ifthis Buttinsky Gordon brings backthat marriage certificate I can kiss allmy chances goodbye, for there isn’t acourt in that neck of the woods thatwould give me a look in with thatScott chicken if she had a ghost of acase.”

“And you want us to?” Jimpaused.

“You guessed it the first time,”said Taylor. “I want you to help mefollow Gordon, take that paper awayfrom him — croak him.”

For a moment the four sat insilence.

“Why do you have to croakhim?” asked the girl.

“So he can’t come back andswear that he seen the certificate,”said Bill. “That would be just as goodas the certificate itself in any court,against the kid.”

“There isn’t the least chance ofour getting in wrong either,”explained Taylor, “because we can layit all onto the natives or to anaccident and there won’t be anybodyto disprove it — if we are suspected;but the chances are that we can pullit off without anyone being the wiser.”

“And what did you say we got

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out of it?” asked Bill.“A hundred thou apiece the day

I get the property in my hands,”replied Taylor. “If you could get holdof the certificate first it would be fineand dandy, but we’ve got to followGordon to Central Africa to findwhere it is, and by that time he’llhave it. So the only chance we have isto pass him the K. O. and take itaway from him. I’ll sure breatheeasier after I’ve seen that piece ofpaper go up in smoke.”

James Kelley and WilliamGootch were, colloquially, shortsports. They had rolled many a souseand separated more than a singlerube from his bank roll by sucharchaic means as wire tapping andfixed mills, but so far they never hadrisen to the heights of murder. Theidea found them tremulous butreceptive. Their doubts were basedmore upon the material than theethical. Could they get away with itwithout danger of detection. Ah, thatwas the question — the onlyquestion.

“Well?” said Taylor, after a longpause, during which the other twohad drained their glasses while thegirl sat revolving hers upon the tablecloth between her fingers.

“I’m game,” announced Kelley,dodging the girl’s eyes and lookingsideways at Gootch.

“So’m I!” declared the latter.And so it happened that when

Mr. Dick Gordon walked up the gangplank of the liner that was to bearhim as far as Liverpool in his journeyto Africa, three men, leaning over arail on an upper deck, watched himwith interested eyes.

“That’s him,” said Taylor, “thetall one, just in front of the solemn

looking party that resembles aMethodist minister crossed in love —only he ain’t. He’s Gordon’s man.”

As neither Gordon nor Murphywere acquainted even by sight orrepute with any of the precious three,the latter made no attempt to avoidthem during the trip. It was Taylor’sintention to scrape an acquaintancewith Gordon after they had changedships at Liverpool, when he wouldthen know for certain Gordon’sdestination, and could casuallyannounce that he and hiscompanions were bound for that verypoint on a hunting expedition.

All went well with his plansuntil after they had sailed fromLiverpool for Mombasa, when thedepravity which was inherent inKelley and Gootch resulted in anunpleasantness which immediatelyterminated all friendly relationsbetween Gordon and the three. Taylorhad succeeded in drawing Gordoninto conversation soon after sailingfrom Liverpool, when he casuallyremarked that he and his friendswere bound for the country aboutVictoria Nyanza in search of lions.

“Is that so?” exclaimed Gordon.“I am going into the neighborhood ofAlbert Edward Nyanza myself, andshall take the route from Mabidoaround the north end of VictoriaNyanza.” And a common interestestablished, the two became betteracquainted.

Then Taylor introduced his twofriends and later on Kelley suggestedcards. Taylor tried to find allopportunity to warn his accomplicesagainst the crookedness which heknew was second nature with them.He would have preferred to letGordon win, but the estimable

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Messieurs Kelley and Gootch,considering a bird in the hand worthtwo in the jungle, swooped downupon the opportunity thus affordedthem to fleece their prey. The resultwas that after half all hour of playGordon rose from the table, a ratherunpleasant light in his eyes, cashedin his remaining checks and quit thegame.

“Why, what’s the matter, oldman?” queried Taylor, inwardlycursing Gootch and Kelley.

“I wouldn’t force an explanationif I were you,” replied Gordon coldly.“The captain might overhear.”

Taylor flushed and Gordonwalked away, which was the end ofthe acquaintance upon which Taylorhad based such excellent plans.

“You boobs are wonders,”sneered Taylor. “You must have madeall of fifty dollars apiece out of it —and ruined every chance we had totravel right to the mission inGordon’s company,’’ and he turneddisgustedly away and sought hiscabin.

CHAPTER III

SOPHRONIA was blithely hummingDixie as she went about her work onthe second floor of the Scott house.Occasionally she broke the monotonyby engaging in heated discussionswith herself.

“Yassem,” she said, shakingher head, “Ah never done laik datMistah Scott Taylor. He may be po’Miss Do’thy’s boy; but he’s po’ whitetrash, jes’ de same. Yass’m. An’ lookyere,” as she pushed the bed out fromthe wall to ply her broom beneath.“Jes’ look yere! Dere he’s gone and lef’his coat. Shif’ less, das what he is —

a throwin’ his coat around laik dat,”and she seized the garment with avigorous shake.

Throwing the coat across herarm, the negress carried it down tothe library, where Mrs. Scott andVirginia were sitting.

“Heah dat Mistah Scott Taylor’scoat,” she announced, laying it on thetable. “What Ah done goin’ do wif it —give it to dat good-fer-nothin’ niggerSamu-el?”

“No, Sophronia,” said Mrs.Scott, “we’ll have to send it to him,”and she picked up the garment towrap it for mailing. As she folded it acrumpled sheet of note paper fellfrom a side pocket. Virginia picked itup to replace it in the coat, when, bychance, she saw her mother’s nameupon the top of the sheet.

“Why,” she exclaimed, “this isyours, mother,” and she spread thenote out, smoothing it upon the tabletop. “It’s a letter to you. How in theworld did it happen to be in Scott’scoat?”

Mrs. Scott took the note andread it; then she handed it to herdaughter. When Virginia hadcompleted it she looked up at hermother, her face clouded and angry.

“Why, the scoundrel!” sheexclaimed. “He actually has beenintercepting your mail.” Then sheglanced again at the date line and hereyes opened wide. “Mother!” sheejaculated. “This letter must havecome the very day Scott left in such ahurry. It must have been because ofthis letter that he did leave. What canit mean?”

Mrs. Scott shook her head.“I know,” announced Virginia.

“He has gone to prevent Mr. Gordonfrom recovering the certificate or else

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to follow him and obtain possessionof it himself. There could be no otherexplanation of his hurried departure,immediately after the receipt of thisletter.”

“It does look that way, Virginia;but what can we do?”

“We can wire Mr. Gordon atonce.”

“What can we say that will notappear silly in a telegram, unless weactually accuse Scott of criminaldesigns,” argued Mrs. Scott, “and wecannot do that, for we have onlyconjecture to base a charge upon.”

“I can go to New York and talkwith Mr. Gordon,” said Virginia, “andthat is just what I shall do.”

“But, my dear —” Mrs. Scottstarted to expostulate.

“But I am,” said Virginiadeterminedly, and she did.

To her dismay she found Mr.Richard Gordon’s apartment lockedand apparently untenanted, for therewas no response to her repeated ringof the bell. Then she inquired atanother apartment across the hall.Here a house man informed her thatMr. Gordon’s man had told him thathe and Mr. Gordon were leaving forAfrica — he even recalled the name ofthe liner upon which they had sailedfor Liverpool.

What was she to do? Well, thefirst thing was to assure herself as towhether Scott Taylor had also sailedfor Africa, and if not to arrange tohave him watched until she could getword to Mr. Richard Gordon. The taxithat had brought her to Gordon’sapartment was waiting at the curb.Descending to it, she gave the driverinstructions to take her to the officeof a certain steamship company —she would examine the passenger list

and thus discover whether Taylor hadsailed on the same boat with Gordon;but after examining the list andfinding Taylor’s name not amongthose of the passengers it suddenlyoccurred to her that the man woulddoubtless have assumed a name ifhis intentions were ulterior. Now shewas in as bad a plight as formerly.She racked her brain for a solution toher problem. It would do no good towire Gordon, for he would not knowTaylor if he saw him, and anyway itwas possible that Taylor had notfollowed him and that she would onlybe making herself appear silly bysending Gordon a melodramaticwireless.

“I only wish,” she muttered toherself, “that I knew whether or notScott Taylor has followed him toAfrica. How can I find out?”

And then came a naturalsolution of her problem — to searchfor Scott Taylor himself in New York.Her first thought was of a citydirectory, and here she found a ScottTaylor with an address on West145th Street, and a moment later hertaxi was whirling her uptown in thatdirection.

It was with considerabletrepidation that Virginia Scottmounted the steps and rang the bellbeneath the speaking tube. Shefeared Taylor and knew that she wasdoing a risky thing in thus placingherself even temporarily in his power;but loyalty and gratitude towardRichard Gordon, a stranger who hadput his life, maybe, in jeopardy toserve her and her mother, insistedthat she accept the risk, and so whenthe latch of the front door clicked anda voice, ignoring the speaking tube,called down from above for her to

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come up, she bravely entered thedark stairway and marched upward,to what she had no idea. She hadbeen glad to note that the voice fromabove had been that of a woman. Itmade her feel more at her ease; butwhen she reached the topmost stepand found a slovenly young womanwith bleached hair and a greenkimono awaiting her, her heart sank.

“Does Mr. Scott Taylor livehere?” she asked.

“Yes, but he ain’t at home.What do you want — anything I cando for you?”

“Has he left the city?” askedVirginia.

The girl’s eyes narrowed, andVirginia noted it, but she thought,too, that she saw a trace of fear inthem. She was convinced that thiswoman could tell her all she wishedto know, but how was she to get theinformation from her?

“May I come in a moment andrest?” she asked. “It’s rather a longclimb up here from the street,” andshe smiled — one of those delightfulsmiles that even a woman admires inanother woman.

“Sure!” said the girl. “Comeright in. Don’t mind how things look.I’m here alone now and takin’ it easy.You have to keep things straightenedaround here when the men folks arehome, or they’re always growlin’.”

So the men folks were away!“What a cute little place you

have here,” said Virginia. “You areMrs. Taylor?”

The girl flushed just a trifle.“No,” she replied. “My man’s name isKelley. Mr. Taylor boards with uswhen he’s in town.”

And afterward when sheaddressed her as Mrs. Kelley, Virginia

could not but note an odd expressionaround the corners of the girl’smouth.

“Is Mr. Taylor out of townnow?” asked Virginia.

The girl looked her straight inthe eyes for a moment before shereplied.

“Say, look here,” shedemanded at last. “What’s yourgame? Who are you, anyhow andwhat’s your idea in doin’ all thisrubberin’ after Kid Taylor?”

For a moment Virginia did notknow what answer to make, andthen, impulsively, she decided to tellthis girl a part of her conjectures atleast, in the hope that eithersympathy for Gordon or fear of theconsequences upon Taylor wouldenlist her services in Virginia’s behalf.There was that in the girl’s face whichconvinced Virginia that beneath thesoiled green kimono and evidences ofdissipation in the old-young facethere lay a kind heart and a generousdisposition. And so she told her.

Her story was not all news toBlanche. She had heard most of itfrom Taylor’s lips. When Virginia hadfinished the girl sat glowering sullenlyat the floor for several seconds. Atlast she looked up.

“I don’t know,” she said, “whatstrings Kid Taylor has on me. He ain’tnever done nothing except to egg Jimon first to one job and then toanother that Taylor didn’t have thenerve to pull off himself. Jim’s beento the Island once already for a jobthat Taylor worked up an’ then satright here drinkin’ high-balls an’tryin’ to flozzie up to me while Jimand Bill were out gettin’ pinched.

“An’ now —” she paused, astartled look coming into her eyes.

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“An’ now he’s framed up a murder forthem, ‘cause he ain’t got the nerve todo it himself.”

“You mean,” cried Virginia,“that they have really followed Mr.Gordon to Africa to murder him?”

Blanche nodded, affirmatively.Then she leaned forward toward hercaller.

“I’ve told you,” she said,“because I thought you might find away to stop them before they did it. Idon’t want Jim sent to the chair. He’salways been good to me. But forGawd’s sake don’t let them know Itold you. Bill ‘ud kill me, an’ Jim ‘udquit me, I’d care more about thatthan the other. You won’t tell, willyou?”

“No,” said Virginia, “I won’t.Now, tell me, they sailed on the sameboat as Mr. Gordon?”

“Yes, Jim and Bill and Taylor,an’ they were goin’ to follow Gordonuntil he got the paper, then croakhim an’ take it away an’ say it was anaccident or something.”

Virginia Scott rose from thechair upon which she had beensitting. Outwardly she was calm andcollected, but inwardly her thoughtswere in a confused and hystericaljumble in which horrorpredominated. What was she to do?How helpless she was to avert thegrim tragedy. She thought of cablingGordon, but when she suggested theplan to Blanche the girl pointed outthat it was too late — Gordon mustalready have left the end of therailroad and be well upon his wayinto the interior.

For a moment Virginia stood insilence. Then she held out her handto the young woman.

“I thank you,” she said. “You

have done right to tell me all that youhave. Goodbye?”

“What are you going to do?”asked Blanche.

“I don’t know yet,” repliedVirginia. “I want to think — maybe asolution will come.”

And as she was driving back toher hotel the solution did come — inthe crystallization of a determinationto take the saving of Richard Gordoninto her own hands. It was for herthat he was risking his life. Shewould be a coward to do one whit lessthan her plain duty. There was noone upon whom she could call to dothis thing for her, since she realizedthat whoever attempted it must riskhis life in pitting himself againstTaylor and his confederates —desperate men who already hadplanned upon one murder in thefurtherance of their dishonorablepurpose.

She thought of writing hermother first; but deliberation assuredher that her parent would doeverything in her power to preventthe carrying out of a scheme whichVirginia herself knew to be little shortof madness — and yet she couldthink of no other way. No, she wouldwait until it was too late to recall herbefore she let her mother know herpurpose.

So instead of returning at onceto her hotel, Virginia drove to theoffices of a transatlantic steamshipcompany, where she made inquiriesas to sailings and connections forMombasa, Africa. To her delight shediscovered that by sailing thefollowing morning, she could makedirect connections at Liverpool. Oncecommitted to her plan she permittedno doubts to weaken her

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determination, but booked herpassage immediately and returneduptown to make purchases andobtain currency and a letter of creditthrough a banker friend of hergrandfather.

The morning that she sailedshe posted a long letter to her motherin which she explained her plansfully, and frankly stated that she hadintentionally left her mother inignorance of them until now for fearshe would find the means to preventtheir consumation.

“I know that, to say the least,”she wrote, “the thing that I am goingto do is most unconventional and Irealize also that it is not unfraughtwith dangers; but I cannot see a totalstranger sacrifice his life in ourservice without a willingness to makean equal sacrifice, if necessary, inhis.”

And when her mother read theletter, though her heart was heavywith fear and sorrow, she felt that herdaughter had done no more than thehonor of the Scotts demanded.

To Virginia the long journeyseemed an eternity, but at last itcame to an end and she found herselfnegotiating with an agent at Mabidofor native porters and guards and theconsiderable outfit necessary toAfrican travel. From this man shelearned that Gordon had left for theinterior a month before, but he hadnot heard of a man by the name ofTaylor, though there had been, hesaid, another party of threeAmericans who had followed Gordonby about a week. These had beenbound for Victoria Nyanza to hunt,and the agent smiled as he recalledtheir evident unfamiliarity with allthings pertaining to their avocation.

Virginia asked him to describethese men, and in the description ofone she recognized Taylor, and rightlyguessed that the others were Kelleyand Gootch. So three men, one ofthem an unprincipled scoundrel, hadgone out into the savage, lawlesswilds on the trail of Richard Gordon!Virginia went cold as the fear swepther that she was too late.

Further questioning of theagent revealed the fact that whileGordon and the other three hadarrived simultaneously they had hadno intercourse, and that Gordon hadobtained considerable start on theothers because of his familiarity withcustoms of African travel and theutter ignorance of the others of thefirst essentials of their requirements.

This hope sustained her; thatGordon with his superior knowledgeand experience had been able tooutdistance the others, and that she,by traveling light and carefullyselecting her path, might overtakethem before they overtook Gordon ormet him upon his return.

With this idea in mind Virginiahastened her preparations, and onceon the march urged her safari on toutmost speed. Almost from the startshe discovered that her head man,while apparently loyal to her, had butmeagre control of the men of thesafari, who were inclined to beinsubordinate and quarrelsome. Theresult was that to her other burdenswas added constant apprehensionfrom this source, since it not onlythreatened her own welfare but thesuccess of her mission as well.

It was upon the tenth day thatthe first really flagrant breach ofdiscipline occurred — one which theheadman could not handle or the girl

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permit to pass unnoticed. The menhad long been grumbling at theforced marching which had fallen totheir lot since the very beginning,notwithstanding the fact that theyhad been employed with the distinctunderstanding that such was to bethe nature of their duty. Today, afterthe mid-day rest, the porters wereunusually slow in shouldering theirpacks, and there was muchmuttering and grumbling as theheadman went among them trying toenforce his commands by means ofall manner of terrible threats. Someof the men had risen sullenly andadjusted their burdens, others stillsat upon the ground eyeing theheadman, but making no move toobey him. Virginia was at a littledistance waiting for the safari to setout. She was a witness to all whichtranspired. She saw a hulking blackHercules slowly raise his pack inlaggard response to the commands ofthe excited headman.

Just what words passedbetween them she could not know,but suddenly the porter hurled hisload to the ground, shouting to theothers who had already assumedtheir burdens. One by one thesefollowed his example, at the sametime shouting taunts and insults atthe frantic, dancing, futile headman.The armed members of the party —the native escort — leaned on theirrifles and grinned at the discomfitureof the headman.

Virginia’s heart sank as shewitnessed this open break. It wasmutiny, pure and simple, and herheadman was quite evidently whollyincapable of coping with it. That itwould quickly spread to the armedguard she was sure, for their attitude

proclaimed that their sympathieswere with the porters. Somethingmust be done, and done at once, norwas there another than herself to doit.

The headman and the largeporter were wrangling in high pitchedvoices. The other porters had closedin about the two, for it was evidentthat they would soon come to blows.The attitude of all the bearers wasangry and sullen. The members of thesafari stilled grinned — this was theonly reassuring symptom of thewhole dangerous affair. They had notyet openly espoused the cause of themutineers.

Virginia came to a decisionquietly. She crossed the spacebetween herself and the porters at arapid walk, shouldering her waybetween the watchers until she stoodbetween the headman and thebellicose porter. At sight of her theystopped their wrangling for amoment. Virginia turned to theheadman.

“Tell this boy,” she said, “that Isay he must pick up his pack atonce.”

The headman interpreted herorder to the mutineer. The latter onlylaughed derisively, making no moveto obey. Very deliberately Virginiadrew her revolver from its holster ather hip. She levelled it at the pit ofthe porter’s stomach, and with afinger of her left hand pointed at thepack on the ground. She saidnothing. She knew that size hadcommitted herself to a policy whichmight necessitate the fulfillment ofthe threat which the leveled weaponimplied, and she was ready to adhereto the policy to the bitter end.

The fate of her expedition hung

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upon the outcome of this clashbetween her porters and herrepresentative, the headman; andupon the fate of the expedition hung,possibly, the very life of a strangerwho had placed himself in jeopardy toserve her. There was no alternative —she must, she would compelsubordination.

The porter made no move toassume his burden, but he ceased tolaugh. Instead, his little eyesnarrowed, his heavy lower jaw andpendulous lower lip drooped sullenly.He reminded the girl suddenly of ahuge brute about to spring upon itsprey, and site tightened the pressureof her finger upon the trigger of herrevolver.

“Tell him,” she instructed theheadman, “that punishment formutiny is death. That if he does notpick up his pack at once I shall shoothim, just as I would shoot a hyenathat menaced my safety.”

The headman did as he wasbid. The porter looked at theencircling faces of his friends forencouragement. He thought that hefound it there and then an evil spiritwhispered to him that the whitewoman would not dare shoot and hetook a step toward her threateningly.

It was his last step, for theinstant that he took it Virginia fired,not at his stomach, but at his heart— and he crumpled forward totumble at her feet. Without a secondglance at him she wheeled upon theother porters.

“Pick up your packs andmarch!” she commanded, and thosewho could not understand her wordsat least did not misinterpret themenace of her levelled weapon. Oneby one, and with greater alacrity than

they had evinced since the first dayout, they shouldered their burdens,and a moment later were filing alongthe trail. The safari still grinned, forwhich Virginia was devoutly thankful.

From then on she became herown headman, using that dignitaryprincipally as an interpreter, nor formany days was there again theslightest show of insubordination —that came later, with results sodisastrous that — but why anticipatedisaster?

CHAPTER IV

FAR TO the west Richard Gordonhad penetrated the jungle to the siteof the ruined mission. He hadscraped around the woods whichovergrew the razed walls of thebungalow, and at last he had comeupon the flagging of the old hearth.Stone after stone he pried from itsplace until beneath one he at lastcame upon a tiny vault, and amoment later his groping fingerstouched a rusted tin box thatcrumpled beneath them. Feelingcarefully amid the debris, Gordonfinally withdrew a long manilaenvelope which had withstood theravages of time. It was still sealed,nor did he break it open, for it was allthe box contained other than a fewloose pieces of jewelry and thereforemust contain the paper he sought.

Dick Gordon was elated by thesuccess of his adventure. He hadfeared that even the old hearth mighthave disappeared and the paper withit, for he had no means of knowinghow complete had been theWakandas’ demolition of the mission,as upon his former visit he had seenno sign of the old chimney and

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fireplace.Early the following morning he

set out upon the return journeytoward the coast, confident that nofurther obstacles other than thoseordinary to African travel lay betweenhim and the delivery of the packetsafely into the hands of Mrs. Scott.

How could he guess that to theeast of him three American crooks,bent upon nothing less than hisdeath, barred his way to the coast.

That they were making shortmarches and slow ones was of littlemoment to the three. They soon hadtired of the hardships of Africantravel, and finally gave up the hope ofovertaking Gordon before he reachedthe mission. To waylay him upon hisreturn would answer their purposequite as well, and so when they cameat last to a village through whichGordon must pass upon his return tothe coast it required little discussionof the question to decide them toawait him there.

In view of generous gifts thenative chief welcomed them to hishospitality. He set aside acommodious hut for the three whites.They unstoppered numerous bottlesof Irish whiskey and the blacksbrewed their native beer. The visitwas a long-drawn Bacchanalian revelwhich the whites found more to theirtastes than long, tiresome marchesand the vicissitudes of ever changingcamps.

But one day the peace of thecommunity was rudely startled. Alion seized upon an unwary womanworking in a little patch of cultivatedground outside the village. Herscreams brought out the warriorsand the whites; but the lion draggedhis prey into the jungle, her

screaming ceased, nor was she everseen again.

The natives were terrified. Theybesought the whites to help them —to go forth with their guns and slaythe man-eater; but though theyhunted for two days no trace of themarauder could they find. Then theblacks dug a pit and baited it with alive goat, and lest the lion escapeeven this they set a watch upon thepit that the whites might be calledwhen the lion approached.

Nor did they have long to wait.Scarce had they secreted themselveswhen a huge lion stepped majesticallyfrom the brush. Raising his massivehead he sniffed the air. His lower jawrose and fell. The slaver drivelledfrom his jowls. Deep in his throatrumbled a low thunder, and presentlyat his side appeared a sleek lioness.

For a moment they stood thus,their yellow eyes sometimes boringstraight ahead as though to piercethe thickets behind which thetrembling natives crouched, or againmoving slowly up and down the trail.Presently the lion’s head went up in aquick movement of arrestedattention. Instantly he froze to rigidimmobility. His sensitive nostrilsdilated and contracted, the tip of histail moved. Aside from these he mighthave been chiselled from living gold,so magnificent he was.

Up wind, in a little clearing,two antelope browsed. Now and againthe graceful male raised his hornedhead to sniff the air; his greatwondering eyes scanning thesurrounding jungle. Then he wouldlower his muzzle again and resumehis feeding, yet ears and nose werealways upon the alert.

The Judas breeze, kissing the

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soft coats of the antelope as itpassed, bore down to the nostrils ofthe lions the evidence of the nearpresence of flesh — of tender, juicy,succulent, red flesh. The king turnedhis royal head once toward hisconsort. A sound that was half sighbreathed from his great throat. Was ita message — a command? Who maysay? The lioness settled herself into acomfortable position in the long grassand her lord moved silently away, upwind toward the unconsciousantelope.

A moment later an excitednative detached himself from thewatchers and sped away toward thevillage to notify the whites that thelions had come. Taylor, Kelley andGootch caught up their rifles andfollowed the guide back toward thepit. At their heels was half the malepopulation of the village, armed withshort, heavy spears; but the chief,who had hunted lions with white menmany times before, sent them allback with the exception of three whocarried the whites’ extra guns. Therehad been enough before to havefrightened all the lions out of thecountry.

Even so, the white menthemselves, clumsy in thisunaccustomed work, made noiseenough to bring the lioness to her feetas they crawled into the bushesbesides the watchers. When finallythey saw her she was standing headon gazing nervously toward theirhiding place. It was evident that shewas uneasy, and the old chief knewthat in an instant she would bolt.What had held her so long in the faceof the noise of the awkward whitemen he could not guess.

“Shoot!” he whispered. “Quick!”

Already the lioness waswheeling to depart when the threerifles spoke. Only one bullet struckthe target, but that one was enoughto transform the timid jungle creatureinto a mad engine of rage anddestruction. Turning like a cat andgrowling horribly, the lioness chargedwithout an instant’s warning straightdown upon the cover that hid herfoes.

It was the first time in theirlives that any one of the white menhad seen a charging lioness, and itwas too much for the dope shatterednerves of Kelley and Gootch. Flingingaway their rifles, they turned and ranlike scared rabbits, their gun bearersand watchers near them surprisedinto panic at the unwonted sight ofterror-struck white men emulatingtheir example.

Only Taylor, his gun bearer andthe chief held their ground. Taylorwas frightened — few men are not inthe face of a charging lion, especiallyif it be their first; but the blood of theScotts flowed in his veins, andwhatever else he might be, he wasnot a physical coward.

In the moment that ensued hetook careful aim and fired again, andthis time the lioness stopped — dead.Taylor drew a deep sigh of relief.Great beads of perspiration stoodupon his forehead. He wiped themaway, and as he attempted to arise henoticed that his knees were weak andtrembling. It wouldn’t do for the chiefto see that, so he sat down again androlled a cigarette.

By the time the frightened oneshad been recalled he was able tocontrol his muscles. Gootch andKelley came with their tails betweentheir legs, like whipped curs.

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“You guys missed your call,”laughed Taylor. “You ought to havebeen lion tamers.”

The twain grinned sheepishly.“I’ll see that hell-cat face in my

dreams for the rest of my naturallife,” said Kelley.

Gootch shrugged with ashudder.

“Me for Broadway and theTammany tiger — it doesn’t makesuch awful faces,” he said.

“Well, let’s go back to thevillage and have a drink on my firstlion,” suggested Taylor, and the threedeparted, leaving the natives to rig asling and carry the body of thelioness in.

When the lion left his mate hemade his way stealthily in thedirection of his quarry. Now andagain he stopped to raise his headand sniff the air, or with up-prickedears to listen.

Ahead of him, the buck,uneasy, though he had as yet locatedno enemy, moved slowly off, followedby his doe. Craftily the lion trailedthem by scent. Presently he camewithin sight of them but they were onthe move, and the ground was notsuch as to favor a charge. So hestalked them — cautiously, warily,silently — the personification ofmajesty, of power, of stealth. Hestalked them for a long time, untilthey halted again to browse upon theedge of a little plain, and then hismajesty, wearied and impatient,ventured a charge from too great adistance.

Like a bolt he broke from theconcealing jungle. With a speed thatis only a lion’s when it charges hesped toward them — and still allunconscious they fed on. It was the

doe who first looked up, and then twostreaks of bay brown fled before thetawny, yellow flash. It was soon over.A dozen or more bounds convincedthe great cat that he had lost, andwith an angry roar he halted to glarefor a moment after his disappearingfeast, and then to turn, stillrumbling, back into the forest towardhis mate.

He came, shortly, to the spotwhere he had left his mate, but shewas not there. He called to her, butshe did not answer. Then he sniffedabout. The scent of man was stillheavy in the air, and the acrid odor ofpowder clung to the grasses and thebranches, and — what was that,blood? The smell of blood? The lioncrossed and recrossed the trail. Hewalked about sniffing, and at last hecame upon the spot where his matehad died. A great roar broke from hismighty lungs. He smelled about thetrampled grasses. Blacks! And whatis this, the scent spoor of whites? Theblacks were familiar denizens of thejungle. He thought little of them oneway or another. Sometimes he atethem for they were stupid creatureseasily overcome: but the whites! Hehad had experience of them before —of them and their acrid smoke andtheir painful bullets. His forearm hadbeen creased by one and the scar stillplainly showed.

The whites! How he hatedthem! Down went his nose to thetrail. Which way had they gone? Hewould follow and avenge. Straightalong the crooked jungle pathway ledthe spoor. Rumbling in his throat thelion followed, all engrossed in hateand rage, so that he did not see thetrap until it was too late. Suddenlythere was a giving of the trail beneath

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his feet. A snapping of smallbranches.

He clawed and tried to leap tosafety, but in vain. The earth sankfrom beneath him, and snarling andbeating with his armed feet hedropped into the blackness of the pitthat had been dug for him. Nor, forall his great strength and cunningcould he escape.

It was mid-afternoon, followinga long march, that Virginia and hersafari came upon a village where theheadman had told her they would bewell received and could doubtlesstrade for fowl and goats andvegetables. The prospect was alluring,for during the past week her huntershad been vouchsafed the poorestluck. Goat and chicken would tastegood. Virginia’s mouth watered. Themouths of her boys watered too; butnot so much for goat and chickens asfor the native beer for which thisvillage was justly famous.

The chief was away when thevisitors arrived, but his wife and sondid honors in his stead. They, as wellas the balance of the villagers,evinced the greatest curiosity. Butfew of them had ever seen a whitewoman before, and they clusteredabout her, feeling her flesh andgarments, laughing uproariously ateach new discovery, but accordingher every mark of friendship. At last,with difficulty, Virginia succeeded inarranging through her headman for ahut to which she might retire; buteven here the women and childrenfollowed her, squatting aboutwatching her every move. The interiorof the hut was filthy, and the girl hadbeen in it but a short time when shedecided to summon her headmanand have her tent and camp pitched

outside the village.When she went to find him, for

she could not make any of the womenunderstand her wants, shediscovered him, with others of hersafari, indulging freely in beer.Already they had consumed largequantities, and, with an unlimitedsupply in view, were loath to leave theimmediate vicinity of the brew for thesake of pitching camps for her or foranyone else.

As she stood arguing with themthrough the headman she wassuddenly aware of the approach ofnewcomers from the jungle. A littleparty of men were entering the villagegates, and her heart gave a great leapof joy as she saw a white man amongthem. She had started forwardimpulsively toward him, half believingthat it might be Richard Gordon,when she saw two other whitesbehind him, and recognized one ofthem immediately as Taylor. Herheart sank as she realized thepredicament in which she hadunwittingly placed herself. Taylor,seeing her here, would not need to betold to know what had brought her,and now, just when she most neededthe loyalty of her boys, they were onthe high road to inebriation.

She turned toward themquickly, however, placing herselfbehind them, out of sight of theadvancing whites.

“Quick!” she whispered to theheadman. “You must get the boystogether at once. We will continue themarch. Those men who have justentered the village are my enemies.Tell the boys of the safari to get theirguns — we may need them; but Imust get out of this village at once.”

The headman transmitted her

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commands to the porters and thesafari, but they elicited onlygrumbling murmurs at first, and,when she urged her authority uponthem, they openly refused to movefrom where they were. They said thatthey had marched far that day —they could go no further — theywould not go further, and one whohad consumed more beer than hisfellows announced that he would takeno more orders from a woman. Andjust then Scott Taylor came abreastthe party and when his eyes fell uponVirginia Scott they went wide inincredulity and wonder.

“Virginia!” he exclaimed.“Where did you come from? What onearth are you doing here?” And thenas though he had guessed the answerhis eyes narrowed and a loweringscowl clouded his face. “You’ve beenfollowing me, have you? Spying onme, eh? You think you can put oneover on me, do you? Well, you’ve gotanother think coming, young lady.”

Virginia Scott looked coldly atthe speaker, utter contempt in thecurve of her lip and the expression ofher level eyes.

“Yes, I followed you, Scott,” shereplied. “I know you all too well, yousee, not to have guessed something ofthe ulterior motive which promptedyou to come to Africa immediatelyupon the heels of Mr. Cordon. Wefound his letter to mother, you see, inyour coat pocket, the coat that youaccidentally dropped behind your bedbefore you left. If you will take myadvice, Scott, you will take yourselfand your precious friends here backto the coast and out of Africa as fastas you can go.”

Taylor had been thinkingrapidly as the girl spoke, yet he was

at a loss what step to take next. If sheknew that he had followed Gordon toAfrica then her mother knew it too,and whatever harm might befallGordon here would be laid at his dooreven though he found the means toquiet Virginia. The means to quietVirginia! The thought kept runningthrough his head over and overagain. The means to quiet Virginia!He gave his head a little shake as helet his eyes rest on the girl’s faceagain. She was very beautiful — evenmore beautiful in her khaki and tanthan she had been in the softsummer dresses and clear whitecomplexion of the Virginia days.

“Will you take that chance andgo?” she asked presently. “I promisethat I will say no word of this that willharm you. Each of us is half Scott —I would not willingly harm my ownblood, nor will I see you pennilesswhen the estate comes into myhands.”

The mention of the estatebrought Taylor up with a start. It alsobrought a gleam into the eyes ofKelley and Gootch, who had beeninterested listeners to theconversation. Kelley leaned towardTaylor.

“If you go back, Kid,” he asked,“who’s goin’ to pay me an’ Bill thehundred thou apiece?”

“I’m not going back, you fool,”snapped Taylor. “I’ve come toodamned far to go back now.”

“What are you going to do,Scott?” Virginia asked the question inan even voice. She well knew themoment was fraught with hideouspossibilities for her.

“The first thing I’m going to do,”growled Taylor, “is to put you whereyou can be watched, and where you

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won’t get another chance to go andblab all you know or think to Mr.Buttinski Gordon.”

He stepped quickly to the girl’sside as he spoke, and, though shereached for her revolver his hand wastoo quick for her and the weapon waswrenched from her grasp before shecould use it, as use it, she mostcertainly should, had she theopportunity. Taylor seized her wristand he stood there holding her,scowling down into her face. Virginiareturned the scowl, and spoke asingle word, loud enough for theother whites to hear.

“Coward!” That single word wasfilled with loathing and contemptsupreme. It stung the man as wouldno torrent of invective. It stung androused all the brute within him.

With an oath he jerked the girlroughly after him as he turned andcrossed the village street. Straighttoward the hut occupied by himselfand his two associates he draggedher, and at his heels came Kelley andGootch.

“Get a rope,” snapped Taylorwhen they were inside. “We’ll trussthis vixen until we can plan what’sbest for her. And anyway we haven’thad that drink yet on my first lion.”

Gootch found a rope andtogether the three men bound the girlsecurely. Then they went out of thehut, taking a bottle of whiskey withthem.

After they had left Virginiaexerted every effort to free herself ofher bonds; but strain as she wouldshe could not slip them an inch. Theafternoon wore on. She could hearloud talk and laughter of the drinkingwhites and blacks, and she trembledas she thought what the return of

those three, flushed with drink, mightmean to her.

And night fell and still she lay aprey to grim terror and the physicaltortures of her bonds and theunclean mats upon which they hadthrown her.

CHAPTER V

SWINGING along at the head of hissafari, Dick Gordon puffed upon hisblackened briar and hummed a gaytune of the roof gardens. The blackboys at his heels laughed andchattered and sang. They were amerry party, for Gordon had a waywith him that kept men singing attheir work until they forgot that itwas work. He could get more milesout of a safari than many a hardenedand hard, old explorer, for he treatedhis boys like children, humoring orpunishing as seemed best, but neverpermitting an injustice, never nursingan irritation, and never letting themforget that he was master. Fromheadman to meanest porter theyloved him, respected him, eachthought that he would wade throughblood for the big, singing bwana; butthey were soon to find that it waseasier to think than to wade when thechances were even that the bloodmight be their own.

They were nearing a nativevillage where beer flowed like water,and Gordon, having had one previousexperience of that place and theeffects that it had upon his men fortwo consecutive marches, haddecided to camp short of the villageand pass it on the fly next morning.They had come almost to the spot hehad selected for their camp, when theroar of a lion, almost at his feet

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brought Gordon to a sudden stop atthe verge of a pit cunningly hid in thetrail. A hole a few paces further onshowed where the lion haddisappeared and why he was roaringthus up out of the bowels of theearth.

Gordon approached and peeredinto the excavation. There below himcrouched a huge, black maned lion.At Gordon’s elbow was his gunbearer. To turn and grasp the readyrifle was the work of but a moment,but when he had raised the weaponto his shoulder and levelled it uponthe beast below him somethingbrought him to a sudden stop. Hismen were gathered about the pit nowthrowing taunts and insults at thebeast.

“Poor devil,” thought Gordon.“It’s a shame to pot you like thiswithout a chance for your life —” Hepaused and then — “I’m damned if I’lldo it.”

Young Mr. Gordon was, as youmay have guessed, a creature ofimpulse. He was wont to act first andthink later, which is a mighty fineway to do the right thing if one isinherently right at heart, and doesn’tchance to be laboring under theinsidious toxin of anger. Then, too,Dick Gordon loved animals, andparticularly he loved the great fiercecats of the jungle. To him there wasno more inspiring sight than that of amighty lion, and as he looked at theone below him, even in the dim lightof the pit, he realized that neverbefore had his eyes rested upon somagnificent a creature as this great,black-maned prisoner. He lowered hisrifle and turned toward his headman.

“Let’s have a little fun,” he said.“It’s not sport to shoot a lion in a pit.

I never have, and I never shall. We’lllet this old boy out where he’ll have arun for his money and then I cantake a little pride in his skin when Iget it home.”

The headman grinned. He wassomething of a sport himself, but notwhen it came to lions.

“How you get him out, bwana?”he asked.

Gordon examined the pit. Itsroof was constructed of several stoutsaplings crossed with lesser branchesand brush. To drag a couple of thelarger logs until their ends droppedinto the pit would be the work of buta moment, then the lion couldclamber out if he were not injured,and there was nothing in hisappearance or manner to indicatethat he was not entirely whole.

Gordon explained his plan tothe headman and gave his orders forthe porters to lay aside their loadsand drag the poles far enough to lettheir ends drop into the pit. The mengrinned and shrugged, and looked forhandy trees, for they knew that amaddened lion is lightningunchained. Gingerly they laid hold ofthe saplings and commenced to haulupon them, but when the ends hadcome to the pit’s verge and wereabout to drop down and liberate thelion they paused, still grinning,though sheepishly, and begged to beexcused, as it were. The headmanexplained to Gordon that the lionwould be sure to get one of the menat least and he thought that it wouldbe a useless waste of life when theyalready had the lion safelyimprisoned and nothing gained byliberating him.

Gordon shrugged goodnaturedly. “You Li’le A’thas can take

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to the trees,” he said, “and hurry upabout it. I’m going to let loose thisman-eating son of Belial,” and hegrasped the end of one of the log’sand proceeded to pull.

The blacks, seeing his act,tarried not for even a free translationof his words, but scampered to rightand left, clambering to the safety ofthe lower branches with the agility ofmonkeys. Only Gordon’s gun bearerremained at his post. The youngman, seeing him, directed the boy toplace his rifle a few paces to his rightwhere he could take it up and fireshould it be necessary.

“Lean it against that tree overthere,” he directed. “After I drop thelogs down I can reach it before thelion can climb out, if he is inclined tobe nasty instead of grateful.”

The boy, glad enough to berelieved of his duty, though he wouldhave remained at his post in the faceof a dozen lions had Gordon notdismissed him, did as he was bid,himself taking refuge in the tree atthe base of which he leaned the rifle,cocked and ready to his master’shand.

Gordon measured the distancebetween the pit and the tree with hiseyes, and calculated that even thoughthe lion charged after climbing fromhis prison it would take him amoment or two to reach level groundand with that advantage Gordoncould easily reach his rifle and bringthe beast down before it was uponhim.

The element of risk in theadventure appealed to the young NewYorker. He would be pitting his ownskill and prowess against the skilland prowess of the lion. The animalwould have an almost even break

with him, for if Gordon failed to stophim with his first shot the victorywould be to the great cat. This wassport! Gordon felt a thrill ofexcitement tingling along his nervesas he drew slowly upon the end ofone of the logs.

Below him the lion stoodmotionless glaring up into his face,and uttering occasional low growls.As he worked Gordon glanced oftenat the great beast, admiring hissplendid stature, his great mane andhis massive head. The lion waswondering if this creature was one ofthose who had slain his mate. Whatwas he doing? Why was he pullingthe cover from his prison? Why hadthe loud noise and the acrid odor thataccompanied these white skinnedhumans not yet assailed his ears andnostrils? The lion was puzzled. Hecocked his head upon one side,watching intently — so intently thathe forgot to growl.

Gordon dragged the end of oneof the logs until it just hung upon therim of the pit, then he drew its fellowto the same position. A single, quick,heavy pull upon the two togethershould precipitate the ends into thebottom of the trap.

Dick Gordon glanced behindhim once more that he might finallyfix in his mind the exact location ofhis rifle, then he surged back with afirm grip upon the logs, the dirt at theopposite end of the pit crumbled fromthe edge and the two logs droppedtheir further extremities side by sideto the bottom.

At the same instant Gordonturned and ran for his rifle. The lionleaped nimbly to one side to avoid thefalling logs, instantly grasped theirsignificance to him and with an agile

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leap was upon them and at the edgeof the pit by the time Gordon hadcovered half the distance to the treewhere his gun leaned, ready to hishand.

Seeing the man fleeing the liongave a single terrific roar and burstinto the full speed of the charge. Thenatives in the trees screamed loudlyto Gordon, the man turned his head,thinking the lion must be alreadyupon him, and in the little instantthat his eyes were taken from hispath, his foot caught in theprotruding root of a creeper and hewas down.

But for this he might havereached his weapon and put in onegood shot. Even now he had toscramble to his feet and race on; buteven as he half rose a great bodystruck him from behind and hurledhim back to earth — a great, tawny,hairy body that towered above himgrim and terrible.

A thousand thoughts racedthrough Dick Gordon’s mind in thebrief instant the lion stood over him.He thought of his revolver and hisknife in their holsters at his side —as a last resort he would use them.He had heard of men being inpositions similar to his own andescaping unharmed — of the lionsleaving them for some unaccountablereason without inflicting even ascratch upon them. Gordondetermined to wait until the lion tookthe offensive. He lay very quietly, justas he had fallen, half upon his side.One great forepaw was opposite hisface, for the lion straddled him.Gordon even noted the ugly, jaggedscar upon the inside of the forearm.The boys in the trees were shoutingand hurling branches at the huge

beast. The animal paid no moreattention to them than as thoughthey had been so many littlemonkeys. He lowered his mighty headand sniffed the body of his prey.Gordon could feel the muzzletouching his back lightly, and the hotbreath upon his neck and cheek. Thelion puzzled. This was not one ofthose whom he sought. For severalminutes that seemed an eternity toGordon the beast stood above him.What was he thinking? Could it bethat he was searching through hissavage brain for an explanation of theman’s act in releasing him fromcaptivity? Who may say?

But this we do know, that withone great paw he turned Gordon overon his back, sniffed him from head tofoot, looked straight into his face for afull minute and then turned andstalked majestically down the trail,leaving unharmed the puny creaturewhose career one closing of thosemighty jaws would have terminatedforever.

Scarce believing that he couldcredit his own senses, Gordon roseslowly to his feet and gazed after thelion. Behind him his boy slid from thetree, and, seizing Gordon’s rifle, ranforward and thrust it into the man’shand. Thus awakened from thestupor of the shock he had received,Gordon mechanically threw theweapon to the hollow of his shoulder.Quickly the sights covered a spot inthe middle of the beast’s back justbehind the shoulders, the triggerfinger pressed slowly back. Theblacks all silent now, awaiting inbreathless expectancy the shot thatwas never fired.

For a moment Gordon stoodthus like a statue. Then, with an

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impatient shake of his head helowered the weapon.

“I can’t do it,” he muttered.“The beast could have killed me butdidn’t. If I killed him now I’d be lessthan a beast. I wonder why he leftus? Could it have been gratitude?Shucks. Gratitude nothing! He wasn’thungry, or else the boys frightenedhim away,” and at the latter thoughtGordon could not repress a grin as herecalled the great carnivora’sapparent utter contempt for theyelling natives.

And as he stood watching theleisurely departure of the king untilhe was hidden by a turn in the trailthe belief that it might have beengratitude insisted upon intrudingitself upon his thoughts.

“Anyway,” he said half aloud,“it’ll make a pretty story, even if it’snot the true explanation.”

His boys had all descendedfrom their trees by this time and weregrouped about him, chattering to oneanother, and loudly expatiating uponthe wondrous feats of bravery theywould have performed — “if.” Gordonbroke in upon their afterclap.

“Come!” he said. “Take up yourpacks. We ought to be near thestream that passes beside the beervillage — we’ll make camp as soon aswe strike it.”

A half hour later they found asuitable spot for their camp, andGordon, protected by a mosquito net,stretched himself in his hammock toenjoy the luxuries of a pipe and abook before the evening meal shouldbe prepared.

Exhausted from her strugglesto free herself from her bonds,Virginia lay in dumb misery listening

to the sounds of revel without. Theblacks were dancing now. Theirhideous yells reverberated throughthe forest. The dancing light from thegreat fire they had built to illuminatethe scene of their orgy rose and fellfitfully across the open entrance ofthe hut in which the girl lay.

Her own men would be joiningin the mad revel, she well knew. Nouse to appeal to them. Already theyhad shown the calibre of their loyalty.Only the headman had remained atall staunch in his fealty to her and hewas a weak vessel even when sober.

Now that he was drunk, as hedoubtless was, she could not appealto him with any hope of a response.

Now and again she heard thevoices of the white men, maudlinfrom drink. She shuddered as shecontemplated their return to the hut.Again she struggled vainly with herbonds. Hope was well nighextinguished, for what hope couldthere be for her among these wildsavages, and cruel, relentless whites?

As the blacks danced and thewhites drank with them, anothercreature than Virginia Scott heardthe Bacchanalian noises of theirdrunken revel. A great, black-manedlion, grim and silent, prowled aboutthe palisade, sniffing and listening.Now and again he would halt, withhis head cocked upon one side andhis ears up-pricked. Then he wouldresume his tireless pacing. Roundand round the outside of theenclosure he paced his stealthy beat.

Occasionally a low, a very lowmoan, escaped his lips — a weird,blood-freezing moan that, happily forthe peace of mind of the revelers, wasdrowned by their own hideous noises.What were his intentions? That he

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seemed searching for something orsomeone was evident. Once or twicehe paused and lifting his headmeasured the distance to the top ofthe palisade. To the very gates had hefollowed the spool of the white menwho had slain his mate. For them hehad come. Were they within? Hecould not catch their scent; butthough he had circled the palisadedvillage several times his sensitivenostrils had discovered no spoorfresher than that which ended at thevillage gates. His brute sense told himthat they must be within. Why did hehesitate? He was no coward; butneither was he any fool. He knew thepowers and the purpose of guns andspears, and he knew too that oncewithin the palisade with the man-people, while all were awake, hemight be killed before he hadaccomplished the revenge uponwhich he was bent, and so he bidedhis time — a fierce and terrible thing,padding noiselessly through theblack night just beyond the palisade.

The night wore slowly on. Lessand less became the sounds ofrevelry as one by one the blackssuccumbed to the influence of theirnative beer and the white man’swhiskey. Presently Taylor roseunsteadily and made his way towardhis hut, staggering little, for it washis boast that he could carry his loadlike a gentleman.

Virginia, wide eyed andsleepless, saw him approaching. Inthe extremity of her fear she rolled tothe far side of the hut to lie theresilent and motionless in the hope thathe had forgotten her presence andwould not notice her. Taylor sobermight be appealed to in the morning.There must be a fibre of chivalry

somewhere in the soul of any man inwhose veins flowed the honored bloodof the Scotts; but Taylor drunk wouldbe adamant to any influence of hispassions.

From the darkness of hercorner Virginia saw how slightly hestaggered and her hope renewed. Hemight not be so badly intoxicated asshe had feared; but as he lurchedthrough the low doorway her heartsank, for he called her name aloud ina thick voice that belied thesteadiness of his carriage.

“She did not reply, and hecrossed the hut, stooping and feelingfor her with his hands. Presently hetouched her, and an “ah!” ofsatisfaction broke from his lips.

“‘Lo, sweetie,” he mumbled.Virginia did not answer,

feigning sleep instead. He grasped herby the shoulder and shook her.

“Wake up, kid!” he shouted. “I’llshow you I’m not shush a bad sort. ‘Scrooks out there wanted me to croakyou; but I’m a gelmun; I won’t croakyou; if you treat me right.”

He dragged her to a sittingposture and put his arms about her.She could not push him away or fighthim off, for her arms were pinionedbehind her.

“Scott!” she cried. “Think whatyou are doing! I’m your own cousin.”

“Firsh cousin once removed,”he corrected.

“Please, Scott!” she pleaded.“Please leave me alone.”

For reply he kissed her.“You beast!” she cried.“No beast,” he assured her. “To

show what a good fellow I am I’mgoin’ to take these ropes off you,” andhe commenced to fumble with theknots.

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Virginia saw a ray of hope nowin his drunkenness. Sober, hisreason would have warned himagainst releasing her; but drunk hehad all the foolish assurance ofdrunkenness. The knots baffling him,he drew his hunting knife and cut thecords.

“Now,” he said, “you can showme how mush you love me,” andagain he seized her and strained herto him. At his hip swung a revolver.Virginia had coveted it from the first.Now it was the work of but a momentto snatch it from its holster and pressit against the man’s stomach.

“Take your hands off me,” shesaid, “or I’11 pull the trigger,” andshe poked the muzzle against hisribs.

Taylor knew in an instant whatshe had accomplished and it soberedhim. Slowly his hand crept down toseize hers where it held the weaponclose against him.

“Put up your hands,” shewarned him, “and put them upquickly. I shall take no chances,Scott, and I give you my word that I’dbreathe freer if you were dead.”

The man raised his handsabove his head and Virginia sprang toher feet.

“Now stay where you are,” shecommanded. “Don’t come out of thishut before morning. If you do, ormake any attempt to stay orrecapture me, I shall certainly makeit my sole point in life to kill youbefore I am retaken.”

Slowly she backed across thefloor toward the doorway. She wouldarouse her men and at the point ofScott’s revolver force them toaccompany her from the village. Shewas desperate, for she knew that

worse than death was the best thatshe could hope for from Scott Taylor.

It was with a sigh of relief thatshe passed the low portal and foundherself in the pure air of themoonbathed tropical night. A prayerof thanksgiving was on her lips; but itwas never breathed, for scarce hadshe emerged from the interior of thehut than she was roughly seized frombehind and the revolver wrenchedfrom her grasp.

CHAPTER VI

AS Virginia turned to struggle withher captors she saw that they wereTaylor’s two accomplices, and nowTaylor, released from the menace ofthe revolver, rushed from the hut tothe assistance of his fellows. Itrequired the combined strength of thethree to subdue the girl, who wasfighting with the strength ofdesperation for life, and more thanlife.

But at last they overcame herand dragged her back into the hut.Here they shoved her to the far side,and, panting from their exertions,stood glowering at her. Taylor waswiping blood from his hand. VirginiaScott, in the extremity of her need,had been transformed in the momentof battle to a primordial she-thing,and as her first human ancestormight have done, had fought withtooth and nails against herassailants. Kelley, too, had felt herstrong, white teeth sink into his fleshand Gootch bore a long scratch fromtemple to chin.

“The —— ——,” exclaimed thelatter. “We’d orter of croaked her inthe first place.”

Taylor was eyeing the girl

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through narrowed lids. All the beastthat was in him shone from his evileyes. He turned and whisperedquickly to Kelley and Gootch.

“Are we in on it?” asked theformer.

Taylor nodded. “I don’t care,”he said.

“And then we give her the k. o.and put her away behin’ the hut,”supplemented Gootch. “The groun’ ‘ssoft an’ the diggin’ll be easy.”

“I told you that’s wot you’dorter of done in the first place,”grumbled Kelley. “It’ll leave you theonly heir an’ there won’t be nobody tosqueal about Gordon w’en he don’tshow up no more.”

“Go to it,” growled Taylor;“there can’t be any cat bite me upwithout paying for it.”

The two crooks advancedtoward the girl and seized her. Taylorwaited to one side. Slowly they forcedher to the floor of the hut and heldher there, though she fought with allthe strength remaining to her.

And outside the palisade theblack maned prowler sniffed andlistened. Now a little, vagrant breezeeddied through the stagnant night. Itswirled across the village compound,and it bore upon its wings to thenostrils of the carnivora the freshscent of the white men. With a lowgrowl the great beast crouched andsprang. Lightly as a feather he toppedthe palisade and dropped noiselesslywithin.

For a moment he stoodmotionless, peering about. There wasno one in sight. With long, easystrides, his supple muscles rolling inthe moonlight beneath his smoothhide, the destroyer crossed to thenearest hut and sniffed at the chinks

in the thatched wall. Then he movedto another and another, searching forthe prey he wanted. And allunconscious of this grisly presencethe blacks within slept on in blissfulignorance of the hideous menaceroaming at will through their village.

In the white man’s hut thethree brutes struggled with thebattling girl. Their victory was not tobe the easy thing they had bargainedon, and as they fought to subdue hertheir positions changed from time totime. Once she caught Gootch’sthumb between her teeth, norreleased her hold until she hadalmost severed it from his hand.

Cursing and moaning, thecrook withdrew from the battle for amoment to sit with his back towardthe door nursing his hurt. Kelley andTaylor were still endeavoring tooverpower their quarry without killingher. Their faces were toward the door.Suddenly Virginia felt their graspsrelax and saw their eyes, wide inhorror, directed across her shoulder.She turned to discover what had soquickly diverted their attention fromher, and she gasped at the sight thatmet her eyes. Framed in the doorwaywas the massive head of a huge lion.Gootch had not seen the beast. Hewas rolling to and fro drunkenly,holding on to his injured thumb.

Without a word Taylor andKelley turned and commencedclawing frantically at the frailthatching of the hut’s rear wall. In amoment they had torn an openinglarge enough to permit their bodies topass through, and were gone into thenight beyond. At the same instant thelion gave voice to a terrific roar, andVirginia dodged through the rent thatTaylor and Kelley had made and

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sprawled to the ground outside. Shesaw the two scoundrels fleeingtoward the right, and instinctivelyshe turned toward the left. She hadtaken but a few steps when there fellupon her ears the most bloodcurdlingscream of mortal agony and terrorthat ever had smote upon them inher life. She had not imagined thatthe human voice could compass suchfreezing fear as that which shriekedout its high pitched wail upon thesilent jungle night.

The cry compelled her to turnher head back in the direction of thehut she had quitted, and there, in thefull light of the equatorial moon, shewitnessed that which will be searedupon her memory to her dying day.

She saw Gootch, half throughthe opening that had given escape toKelley, Taylor and herself, clutchingfrantically at the turf at the sides ofthe torn hut wall. His features weredistorted by agony and horrorsupreme.

He shrieked aloud to thefriends who had deserted him and tothe God that he long since haddeserted, and ever, slowly andhorribly, he was being drawn backinto the interior of the hut by anunseen power. All too well Virginiaguessed the giant force, the hideousbestial force, that was dragging theterrified man backward to his doomwithin the dark interior of the hut;yet, fascinated, she could but standand watch the grim and terribletragedy.

Slowly the body disappeared,and then the shoulders. Only thehead was left and the hands, thelatter still clutching futilely for a holdupon the frail wall. The face whiteand distorted by fear and suffering.

And then the head was drawn backout of sight, the hands gave up thelast hold; there was a frightful wailfrom within the gloomy interior, awail which mingled with a savage,thunderous roar — and then silence.

The cries of Gootch aroused thenatives. Warriors were pouring fromevery hut — the whole village wasaroused. Virginia turned andresumed her flight. Straight towardthe gates she ran. To unbar them wasthe work of but a moment. Beyondwas the terrible jungle; the grim,cruel, mysterious jungle; but behindwas a fate more terrible than any thejungle could offer. Without anotherbackward glance the girl pushed theportals wide and scurried into thedarkness of the forbidding forest.

The blacks, attracted to the hutoccupied by the white men byGootch’s screams, waited a few pacesfrom the entrance and shouted totheir guests to ascertain the cause ofthe commotion. The lion within,warned by their voices, turned fromhis prey and stuck his great head outthrough the doorway. At sight of himthe blacks howled in mingled terrorand defiance. They waved theirspears and shouted, hoping tofrighten the beast from his hidingplace.

Annoyed and rendered nervousby their din, the carnivore roaredback his challenge, and amid ashower of hurtling spears dashedfrom the hut. For a moment he stoodbewildered while the blacks retreated,and then he turned and trottedtoward the palisade. Seeing himretreat the natives gathered courageand pursued. He skirted close in theshadow of the wall for a shortdistance, coming presently upon the

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gates which Virginia had left open.There he paused for an instant toturn a snarling face toward hispursuers, a face which brought themto a sudden halt, and then, wheeling,darted through the gateway and wasgone.

Stumbling through the junglenight, Virginia Scott was occupied bybut a single thought — to place asmuch distance between herself andScott Taylor as she could. In whatdirection she was going, to whatnameless fate she did not consider.For the first half hour hers was theflight of panic — unreasoning, mad,hysterical. And surely she had beenthrough enough that day to shakesteadier nerves and more experiencedheads than hers.

Thorns and underbrushclutched at her short skirt and khakijacket, tearing them; scratched herhands, her arms and face; tangledthemselves between her feet andtripped her. Again and again she fell,only to scramble to her feet oncemore and plunge on deeper anddeeper into the unknown. The myriadjungle noises fell for a time on deafears — the movement of padded feet,the brush of bodies against vine andbush, the fluttering of weird wingsregistered not at all upon her fear-numbed brain.

And then, above all othersounds, broke one that blasted itsway to her perceptive faculties.Thunderous, ominous, earth-shaking, terrible, it shattered herpreoccupation and awoke her to asense of the nearness of otherdangers than that from which shewas fleeing.

It was the roar of a lion. To hertense nerves it sounded close behind

her. The girl paused, stark and rigid,listening. She stood with herclenched hands tight against herbosom. Her breath came in littlegasps. She could feel her heartbeating against her ribs — she couldhear it; above all the noises of thejungle it sounded like a traitoroustattoo, beating out a call to theprowlers of the night, guiding them totheir prey.

For a moment she stood thus,until out of the blackness from whichshe had come she thought she heardthe stealthy pad of great feet. With ashudder and a little gasp she turnedto flee from this new menace. On shestumbled, bruised, bleeding,hopeless. For how long she could notknow. Time had ceased to exist in themeanwhile, and man made units ofseconds, minutes, or hours — eachheart beat measured an eternity. Shehad been fleeing thus through theblackness of tortured terror sincetime began — she would continuethus to flee, hopeless, until the lasttrump, and then the thing behind herwould spring, frightful talons wouldfasten themselves in her soft flesh,giant fangs would sink deep in neckor shoulder. It would be the end. Theend! The thought brought her to asudden stop. The end! It wasinevitable. Why flee the inevitable?

She leaned against the bole of atree, panting like a winded doe that,after a brave battle for liberty, findsitself spent and awaits resignedly thecoming of the hounds.

She waited, listening forsounds of the coming of the beast ofprey she felt sure was upon her trail.She listened, but she heard no soundto indicate that the beast was close athand. However, she did not attempt

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to delude herself into a feeling of falsesecurity. She well knew the uncannysoundlessness of the passing of thegiant cats when they chose silence.

But what was that? A body,black against the blackness of thejungle, had moved among the trees toher right. She strained her eyes in thedirection of the shadowy form. Yes!There it was, and another andanother. Suddenly two spots of fireglowed dimly from the point uponwhich her gaze was concentrated.Close beside them appeared twoother spots.

Virginia shrank back againstthe tree, horrified. A little prayer rosefrom her silent lips. God! They werecoming closer. Stealthily, noiselessly,they were creeping upon her. Therough bark of the tree behind hergave to the frenzied force of herclutching fingers. A piece broke off,coming away in her hand. Such alittle thing may sometimes prove themost momentous of a lifetime. ToVirginia it brought a lightning train ofthoughts that opened an avenue ofhope in her hopeless breast. The tree!Why had she not thought of it before?

They were coming closer now —would there be time? She turned andmeasured the girth of the bole withher arms. It was not a large tree — inthat lay still greater hope. A suddensnarling broke from the thingscreeping upon her, and at the sameinstant she leaped as high as shecould, embraced the stem of the treeand scrambled rapidly aloft.

There was a rush below her, achorus of angry growls, andsomething brushed her foot. Sheheard the click of jaws snappingtogether below her, and then shedrew herself to the comparative safety

of a lower limb.With reaction came a faintness

and a giddy dizziness that threatenedto plunge her from her sanctuary, butshe clung desperately, and after amoment gained control of herself.Then, painfully and wearily, shecrawled a little higher among thebranches until she found a spotwhere she could recline in greatersafety and comfort.

Here she lay sleepless throughthe balance of the night — a fewhours which seemed endless to her —while the jungle surged back andforth below, around, and above her,and the jungle noises, fearsome anduncanny, rose and fell, a devil’sdiscord jangling on raw nerves.

Through those long hoursVirginia sought, by planning, someray of hope for the future, but eachessay in this direction brought her toa dead stop against the black wall offact. She was alone, unarmed, andlost in the jungle. She wassurrounded by savage beasts andsavage men by any one of which shewould be considered natural prey.

To retrace the long journeyfrom the coast, even though she knewthe trail, would be impossible, andequally impossible would be the taskof going ahead in search of RichardGordon, whom she knew to besomewhere to the west of her. Themore she weighed her chances forexistence against the forces ofdestruction pitted against her, themore hopeless appeared hersituation. Even the coming dawn,ordinarily a time of renewing hope,brought no added buoyancy to herjaded spirits — only a doggeddetermination to fight on to theinevitable end, and then to die

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bravely with a consciousness ofhaving fought a good fight, as becamea granddaughter of Jefferson Scott.

As daylight dispelled thedarkness about her and objects thathad assumed grotesque andmenacing proportions by nightreceded and shrank to the commonplaces of day Virginia’s eyes soughtthe ground below for a glimpse of thecreatures whose menace had drivenher to the safety of branches before;but, search as she would, she coulddiscover no sign of dangerous beast,and at last, realizing that she couldnot remain in the tree forever, shedropped to the ground and resumedher flight. Noting the direction of thesun she turned her face toward thewest, deciding at least that her onlyhope of salvation lay in RichardGordon and influenced equally, too,by the obligation she felt strong uponher to find and warn him of themenace which lay in wait upon hishomeward trail.

That she would find him shehad little hope; but at least she wouldhave the poor satisfaction of clingingto duty to the last, however futile herattempt to fulfill that duty.

She had not gone a greatdistance when she became aware ofthe uncanny sensation that she wasbeing followed. Turning, she lookedback into the jungle behind her; butsaw nothing. Yet again, the momentshe had resumed her way, she couldhave sworn that she heard somethingmoving through the vegetation at herheels. How long this continued shecould not have told; but at length itso preyed upon her nerves that shewas once more reduced to a state ofpanicky terror equal to that whichhad claimed her the preceding night.

If she could have seen the thingthat dogged her footsteps, even toknow that it was some fierce andterrible creature of destruction, hernervous suffering would have beenless; but to feel its eyes upon her andyet not to see it, to hear its paddedfootsteps and to see twigs disturbedwas horrible.

A dozen times she was on thepoint of clambering into a tree; buthunger and thirst which had alreadyassailed her told her in no uncertainterms that there must be no tarryingexcept in the last extreme of danger.While she had strength she must goon and on, for if she did not find foodand drink she soon would have nostrength to go.

Twenty times she must haveturned to search out the prowler thatstalked her, yet she had had noslightest glimpse of him, when shebroke, quite unexpectedly, into asmall clearing. Straight across thisshe made her way, and toward thecenter turned again to cast a nervousglance rearward, and then she sawthe thing upon her track — a mangy,hideous hyena.

Virginia knew that men lookeddown upon this repulsive beast,calling him a harmless coward; butshe knew too many a man had fallenprey to the enormous strength andferocity of these same creatures. Sheknew their cunning and their cruelty,and that, like all other hunted beaststhey were as perfectly aware whenman was unarmed as was manhimself.

She had heard tales of theircourage too; of their attacking lionsand dragging his kill from beneaththe very nose of the king of beasts.And so she did not deceive herself, as

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have others to their sorrow, as to thecowardice or the harmlessness ofthis, nature’s most loathsomecreature. Fifty yards ahead was a lowtree growing solitary in the clearing.She quickened her pace, and turningher head, saw, to her horror, that thehyena had broken into a trot and wascoming straight for her. Even so, shecould reach the tree; she was quitenear it now. The hyena was notcharging, just trotting slowly towardher. Evidently he was too sure of hisprey to feel any necessity for exertinghimself.

Virginia reached the tree inample time to climb to safety, and itwas with a little prayer of relief thatshe looked up for a hand hold upon alower branch — a prayer that frozeupon her lips and turned to a screamof horror, startled from overwroughtnerves, as she saw a great snakecoiled in the branches above herhead.

CHAPTER VII

WHEN daylight broke upon thevillage from which Virginia hadescaped it found Taylor and Kelley,shaken but sobered, preparing to setout in search of Virginia. In thejungle outside the palisade they hadburied the torn remnants of what hadonce been Gootch, and then theygathered their men together and setforth upon the trail of the girl.

Spreading out in a great circle,two or three together, they beat thejungle in all directions. Chance ledthe two whites with a handful of mentoward the west, and a shred of tornkhaki clinging to a thorn bush putone of the natives upon her trail.After that it was easy and the party

made rapid progress in the wake ofthe fleeing girl.

And to the west another campwas astir. Breakfast was served anddisposed of, and Dick Gordon,humming “It’s nice to get up in themorning,” shouldered a light sportingrifle, and with his gun bearer at hisheels with his express set out alongthe coastal trail of his safari.

The day was beautiful, Gordonwas happy. Broadway held morepitfalls than the jungle. His was but ahappy care free jaunt to the coast. Hewas already commencing to feel sorrythat his quest was over and hisouting past its zenith. Back to thehumdrum of civilization! He shruggeddisgustedly. Not an untowardoccurance upon the entire trip. Themonotony of New York had followedhim into the wilds of Africa. He hadbeen born, evidently, to thecommonplace. Adventure shunnedhim.

And then, directly ahead andso close that it sounded shrill uponhis ears, rose the scream of a terrifiedwoman. Gordon leaped forward at arapid run. In a dozen paces he brokefrom the jungle into a small clearingto a sight which surprised him noless than would the presence of aNumidian lion loose upon FifthAvenue.

He saw first a dishevelled whitegirl clothed in torn khaki, her hairloosened and fallen about hershoulders. In her hand was a brokenbranch and snarling about her was ahuge hyena, closing in ready tocharge.

Before either the girl or thebeast realized that a new factor hadbeen precipitated into theirencounter, Gordon had thrown his

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rifle to his shoulder and fired just asthe hyena charged. With a yelp ofagony the hideous creature tumbledover and over almost to the girl’s feet,and as it came to rest two morebullets pinged into its carcass,finishing it forever.

Gordon had run forward,stopping only momentarily to fire,and an instant after his last shot hestood before the girl looking down ather with astonishment andincredulity written large upon hiscountenance. She looked up at himin equal astonishment. He saw herreel, and dropping his rifle, steadiedher with his arm.

“In the name of all that is holy,”he said, “who are you, and what areyou doing here alone in the jungle?”

“You are Mr. Gordon?”He nodded. “Yes, my name is

Gordon; but how the — how in theworld did you know that and who areyou?”

“I am Virginia Scott,” shereplied. She was still trembling andunstrung. It was with difficulty thatshe composed herself sufficiently toanswer him coherently.

Gordon’s eyes went wide at thedisclosure of her identity.

“Miss Scott!” he exclaimed.“What brought you here? Didn’t yourmother get my letter telling her that Iwould bring her the papers from theold mission?”

“Yes,” she explained, “butanother saw your letter first — ScottTaylor, my mother’s cousin, and heset out after you to — to — oh, it isterrible, Mr. Gordon — he hasfollowed you to kill you.”

“He was the other heir?”Virginia nodded.“And you have taken these

frightful chances to warn me?” heasked.

“There was no other way,” shereplied.

He questioned her further, andbit by bit wrung from her the wholeterrible story of the ordeals throughwhich she had passed.

“And she has done all this forthe sake of a stranger,” he thought.“What a girl!”

He had been watching herclosely as she talked, and he found itdifficult to take his eyes frown herface. It was a very beautiful face.Even the grime and the dirt and thescratches could not conceal that fact.“You have done a very wonderfulthing, Miss Scott,” he said. “A verybrave, and wonderful, and foolishthing. I thank God that I found you intime. 1 shudder to think what yourfate would have been had chance notled us together at the right moment.”

As they talked another partycame to the edge of the clearing uponits eastern verge — came and haltedat the sight disclosed before theireyes. It was Taylor, Kelley and theirblacks. They had heard the shot andhurried forward, but cautiously; asthey were sure that Virginia was notarmed.

When Taylor saw the girl andGordon together he saw the end of allhis plans — unless —. His eyesnarrowed as the suggestion forceditself upon him. Here were these twowho stood alone between him andfortune. Two shots would put themfrom his path forever. Should eitherever reach civilization again ScottTaylor would become an outcast. Thestory of his villainy would make hima marked man in the haunts he bestloved. Never again could he return to

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Broadway.Gordon’s back was toward him.

The girl’s eyes were hidden from himby the man’s broad shoulders. Taylorstepped from behind the tree thathad concealed him. He took carefulaim at his first victim — the man.And at that moment Gordon shiftedhis position, and Virginia’s horrifiedeyes took in the menace at his back.

It was too late to warn him.There was but a single chance to savehim. There was no sign in herexpression that she had discoveredTaylor. He was readjusting his aim tothe changed position of his target,and he was taking his time about it,too, for he could not afford to bungleor miss.

At Gordon’s belt swung hisrevolver. Virginia was so close shecould touch him by crooking anelbow. She did not have to take a stepcloser, and it was the work of but asecond to whip the revolver from itsholster, swing it up on Scott Taylorand pull the trigger. At the reportGordon wheeled in surprise towardthe direction the girl had fired. Hesaw a white man drop a rifle andstagger out of sight behind a tree,and then the girl grasped him by thearm and drew him behind the treebeneath the branches of which theyhad met.

“It was Taylor,” she whispered.“He had levelled his rifle at you. Hewould have shot you in the back, thecur.”

“I thought,” said Dick Gordonin a wondering voice, “that I owed youabout all that a man could owe to afellow-being; but now you have stillfurther added to my debt.”

“You owe me nothing; theobligation is still all upon the side of

my mother and myself,” repliedVirginia. “But if you want to add athousand-fold to that obligation I calltell you how you can do it.”

“How,” asked Gordon eagerly.“By getting me and yourself out

of this hideous country and back toAmerica as quickly as it can bedone.”

“Good,” cried Gordon. “We’llstart in just a minute, but first I’mgoing after that human mephitis andput him where he won’t shoot anymore at a man’s back or botherwomen,” and calling to his men, whowere now coming up, he startedacross the clearing in pursuit ofTaylor.

That worthy, however, eludedthem. Wounded in the forearm, hehad scurried into the jungle, halfsupported, half dragged by Kelley,who, while feeling no loyalty towardhis leader, shrank with terror fromthe thought of being left alone to themercies of the blacks in the center ofAfrica. The reward he had aboutgiven up with the sight of Gordon andthe girl together, for with Gootchdead and Taylor wounded, it seemedpractically hopeless to expect toprevent Gordon and Virginiareturning to America. Kelley knewthat he couldn’t do it alone, norwould he try. He could knife a man inthe back with ease, but a look atGordon had assured him that itwould not be profitable employmentto attempt to get near enough to thatathletic and competent looking youngman to reach him with a knife. No,Kelley was through, in so far asfurther attempts at crime in hispresent surroundings wereconcerned.

“Get ‘em back in the good ol’

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U.S.,” he urged Taylor, “an’ I’11 agreeto help you; but Africa — neveragain!” and he raised his right handsolemnly above his head.

Taylor smiled ironically. “Yes!Get ‘em back in the good old U.S.,” hemimicked. “They’ll go back ofthemselves fast enough, you boob,without any help from us, and they’llmake little old U.S. so damned hotthat it won’t hold us. If that cathadn’t pinked me I’d stop ‘em beforeever they reached the coast, but,” andhe winced with pain, “I’m all in for awhile; but by God, I’ll follow them tothe States and get them there; therecan’t anybody put anything over onme like this. They can’t rob me ofwhat’s mine by right even if it isn’tmine by law, and I’ll show ‘em.”

Virginia was for giving thenative village of her adventures awide berth, but Gordon assured herthat they must pass it on the trail tothe coast, and that he was ratheranxious to do so and interview thechief. The tone of voice in which hestated his determination filledVirginia with alarm and also madehim promise that he would donothing to arouse the wrath of thevillage.

But pass the village they did,and much to their surprise the firstpeople they saw emerging from thegates to meet them were several whitemen. They proved to be a party ofwild animal collectors coming downfrom an excursion toward the north.In sturdy cages they bore severalyoung lions, a few leopards, hyenasand other specimens of the fauna ofthe district through which they hadpassed. Now they were on their wayto the coast, but the stories they hadheard of the wonderful black maned

lion that had terrorized the villageand killed a white man there thenight before had determined them tostop long enough to attempt tocapture the splendid beast.

Gordon and Virginia tarriedwith them but a few minutes, thencontinued their way to the coast,which they reached without incidentafter what was, to Gordon at least,the pleasantest journey of his life.Had it not been for the anxiety whichhe knew the girl’s mother must besuffering on account of her madescapade he would have found meansto prolong the journey many days.

CHAPTER VIII

AT the coast they found that theywould have to wait a week for asteamer, and having cabled Mrs.Scott that Virginia was safe under hiscare, Gordon felt at liberty to rejoicethat they had made reasonably goodconnections. It might have beenworse — chance might have broughtthem to the coast only a day ahead ofa steamer.

Gordon, unspoiled by wealthand attentions and scheming manias,lacked sufficient egotism to think thatVirginia Scott might be attracted tohim as he was to her. There had beenother girls who he had known desiredhim, but these he had not cared for.Very soon after he had met Virginiahe had realized that here at last, inthe wilds of Africa, he had found theone girl, the only girl, and straight-away he had set her upon a pedestaland worshipped silently from afar.

To think that this deity mightstoop to love a mortal did not occurto him, and, strange to say, he wascontent to love her without declaring

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his love — but that was while he hadher alone and all to himself. How itwould be when she returned to thehaunts of eligible men did not occurto him.

Very adroitly — at least hethought it was adroitly accomplished— he discovered from her own lipsthat she was not engaged, andthereafter his bliss knew no bounds.It had been difficult for Virginia torepress a smile during the ponderousstrategy with which he maneuveredthe information from her, and also ithad been her first intimation thatRichard Gordon might care for her. Ittroubled her, too, not a little, forVirginia Scott was not a young lady tothrow her heart lightly into thekeeping of the first good looking manwho coveted it. That she liked Gordonimmensely she would have readilyadmitted; but she had given nothought to a deeper interest nor butfor the suggestion the young manblunderingly put into her head mightsuch a thought have occurred to her— at least not so soon.

But the idea, implanted,became food for considerablespeculation, with the result that shenow often discovered herselfappraising Gordon in a most criticalmanner. “As though,” she mused, “hewere a six cylinder limousine, and Iwanted to be sure that I like theupholstery — which I do but there’ssomething wrong with his sparkingdevice,” and Virginia laughed softly toherself.

“What’s the joke?” askedGordon, sitting beside her on thehotel veranda.

“Oh, nothing — just thinking,”replied Virginia, evasively; but sheturned her face away to hide a guilty

flush, and as she did so her eyesalighted upon the head of a longcolumn marching into town.

“Oh, look!” she exclaimed, gladof any pretext to change the line ofthought. “Who do you suppose it canbe?”

Gordon looked in the directionshe indicated, rose and walked to theend of the veranda, and then calledback over his shoulder.

“They’re the collectors. Iwonder if they got their man-eater?”

Virginia was at his side now,and at her suggestion the two walkeddown the street to meet the incomingcaravan. The collectors weredelighted to see them again, and inresponse to Gordon’s inquiry pointedto a stout cage in the middle of thelong line.

“There he is,” said one of them,“and he’s a devil.”

Gordon and the girl droppedback to have a look at the latestcapture, finding a huge, black-manedlion crouching in the narrow confinesof his prison. His yellow eyes glaredbalefully out upon them, his tailmoved restlessly in angry jerks, andhis bristling muzzle was wrinkled intoa perpetual snarl that bared long,ugly looking fangs.

“He does look like a devil,doesn’t he?” remarked Gordon.

A crowd was gathering aboutthe cage now, and as one approachedmore closely than his majestythought proper he leaped to his feetand dashed madly against the bars.Roaring loudly and clawing viciouslyin an attempt to reach thepresumptuous mortal — who shrankback in terror, much to theamusement of the other onlookers.

“What a beauty!” exclaimed

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Virginia.Gordon was looking very

closely at the lion, and instead ofreplying moved forward nearer thecage. The lion growled savagely,hurling himself against the bars, andthen Gordon stepped quite close tohim. The beast stopped suddenly andeyed the man in silence. A look,almost of human recognition,changed the expression of his face.He growled, but no longer angrily — agrowl of friendly greeting Gordoncould have sworn.

“I thought as much,” said theman, turning toward Virginia and oneof the collectors at his back. “See thatjagged scar on the inside of theforearm there?” he asked.

The collector nodded.“This is the fellow I liberated

from the pit,” continued Gordon, “andhe remembers me.”

“Well, I shouldn’t bank toostrongly on his gratitude if I wereyou,” warned the collector.

“No, I don’t intend to,” laughedGordon.

Two days later Virginia Scottand Richard Gordon took passageupon a northbound steamer, andamong the other passengers andcargo were the collectors and theirwild beasts.

For several days after receivinghis wound Taylor was down withfever; but the moment he could travelhe and Kelley set off on their returnto the coast, the former bent nowupon carrying his felonious designsto a successful conclusion even if hehad to rob and murder Gordon in theheart of New York. The man wasdesperate. His expedition had costhim all the money that he could beg,borrow or steal. He owed Kelley not

alone the promised reward butseveral hundred dollars in cash thatthe latter had advanced toward thefinancing of the work. He must havemoney — he must have a lot of it —and he was determined to get it.Never in his life had Scott Taylor beenso dangerous an enemy; and in thisstate of mind he and Kelley caughtthe steamer following that uponwhich Virginia and Gordon hadsailed.

Gordon whiled away the hoursof the voyage, when he could not bein Virginia’s company, before the cageof the great lion. No one else couldapproach the beast, with the possibleexception of Virginia Scott, whom theanimal seemed to tolerate so long asGordon was near. Toward all othersthe tawny man-eater evinced themost frightful rage; but when Gordonapproached he became docile as akitten, permitting the American toreach inside the bars and scratch hismassive, wrinkled face.

At Liverpool Gordon badefarewell to his savage, jungle friend,for he and Virginia were to take a fastliner for New York, the collectorfollowing upon a slower vessel.

“Goodbye, old man,” saidGordon in parting, stroking themighty muzzle. “The chances are we’llnever see each other again; but I’llnever forget you — especially as Imost vividly recall you as you stoodover me there in the jungle debatingthe question of your savage jungleethics, while gratitude and appetitebattled within your breast — and seethat you don’t forget me; though youwill, of course, within a month.”

The lion rumbled in his throatand rubbed his head luxuriouslyagainst the bars as close to the man

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as he could get, and thus Gordon lefthim.

Within a few days the hugebeast was sold to a travelingAmerican circus, where he waspresently exhibited to wonderingcrowds, “Ben, King of Beasts, theMan-Eating Lion from the Wilds ofCentral Africa.” He roared andramped and struggled for liberty fordays, but at last he seemed to realizethe futility of his efforts, andsubsided into a sullen quiet whichrendered his keepers even moreapprehensive than had his openrebellion.

“He’s a ugly one,” commentedthe big Irishman, whose specialcharge Ben was; “an’ deep, too. He’llget some ‘un yet. Yeh can’t nevertrust these forest critters; they’re allalike, only Ben he’s worse.”

CHAPTER IX

MRS. Scott had met Virginia andGordon at the dock, where, in theexcitement and rejoicing of thereunion of the mother and daughter,the manila envelope and its contentswere forgotten until long after Gordonhad seen the two safely aboard theirtrain for home.

Before parting with him bothhad urged that he visit them at anearly date, and gladly indeed hadGordon promised to do so. It was notuntil their train had pulled out of thestation that Virginia recalled thepaper for which Gordon had madethe long journey and risked his life.

“He must have forgotten it,too,” she said; “but he’ll probablydiscover it and mail it to you today.”

Mr. Richard Gordon did not,however, discover the manila

envelope for many days thereafter. Ithad crossed the Atlantic in one of hisbags in the special care of the loyalMurphy, and that gentleman hadremoved it, with other papers, as washis custom, to a certain drawer inGordon’s desk where “unfinishedbusiness” reposed, awaiting theleisurely pleasure of Mr. Gordon.

But that young gentlemanfound upon his arrival in New York amatter of far greater interest thanunanswered letters and unpaid bills.It was an urgent demand from an oldschool friend that he accompany theformer a-motoring into Canada on afishing expedition.

He had met this friend in thegrill of one of his clubs the day helanded in New York, and fifteenminutes later had promised to leavewith him early the following morning.

Mrs. Scott and Virginia waiteda reasonable time, and then, hearingnothing from Gordon, the girl wrotehim, and as fate would have it herletter reached New York the very daythat witnessed the return of Taylorand Kelley, and the latter, sent toascertain the whereabouts of Gordon,preceded the postman into theapartment building where Gordon’sbachelor home was located by a fewpaces.

Turning to see who was behindhim, Kelley had an inspiration bornof former practice and long years oftaking anything that he could get hishands on, provided it belonged toanother.

“If there’s anything for myfriend Gordon,” he said to the mailcarrier, “I’ll save you a trip up as I’mgoing up to see him now.”

Unsuspicious, the carriershuffled off a half dozen pieces of

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mail matter and handed them toKelley, who resumed his way to theelevator, stuffed the letters in hispocket and a moment later rang thebell of Gordon’s door. Murphyanswered the summons and, thanksto a slight disguise, failed to recognizethe card sharp of the trip out.

“No, sir, Mr. Gordon is not in,”he replied to Kelley’s inquiry. “He hasgone out of town for a couple ofweeks. What name, sir?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know me,”replied Kelley. “I’ll call again after hecomes home. It’s just a little businessmatter,” and he turned and departed.

Back in the flat on West OneHundred and Forty-fifth Street, Kelleyhanded the mail to Taylor. One byone the envelopes were steamed openand the contents read. Only the letterfrom Virginia was of interest or valueto the conspirators.

“He’s still for the paper,”announced Taylor when he hadfinished reading Virginia’s note, “andhe’ll go down there with it. That’s theplace to get him and the paper at thesame time. I know the lay of the landthere. We’ll duck for Scottsville andlay for Mr. Butinski Gordon. Seal upthose letters, Kelley, and put ‘em intoGordon’s mail box.”

Two weeks later Dick Gordonsat once more before his desk in hisapartment and attacked theaccumulated correspondence in the“unfinished business” drawer at hisright hand.

“Well, I’ll be — what do youknow about that?” he exclaimed, ashe read Virginia’s letter, and then herummaged through the mass ofenvelopes before him, drawing a greatsigh of relief as his search finallyuncovered the long manila envelope.

“Hey, Murphy!” he called. “Ringup and find out when the first trainthrough Scottsville, Virginia, leaves.”

The following day he alighted atthe station of the sleepy little town,engaged a negro to drive him to TheOaks, and was presently making hisdusty way in the direction of thestately Scott household.

Two minutes after he haddriven off Kelley rushed breathlesslyinto the ballroom of the tavern whereTaylor was engaged in a game ofcards with a marooned traveling man.Leaning close to Taylor’s ear Kelleywhispered; “He’s come!”

“Where is he?” asked Taylor.“Driven off toward The Oaks,”

replied Kelley.“All right — he’ll keep ‘til

tonight,” and Taylor resumed thepleasurable task of separating thetraveling man from his expensemoney.

At The Oaks Gordon discoveredthat Mrs. Scott and Virginia werevisiting friends at a nearby town.

“Dey’ll be back to-morrer,Mistah Gordon,” said the old coloredbutler, “an’ Ah knows dey’ll be mightyprolashus to see you-all. Dey’s beenexpectin’ you for a right smaht. Yocome right along of me, an’ I’ll showyou yore room — you mos’ suttinygotter stay till Miss Ruth an’ Miss‘Ginia returns.”

“It’s might good of you,” saidGordon, “and I’ll do it. Let me see,you are Washington, are you not? I’veheard Miss Virginia speak of you.

“Yassah, I’m Washington Scott,sah,” replied the old fellow, beamingwith pride and pleasure to learn thathe had been the subject of ‘Quality’sconversation’. “Yassha, MarssaJefferson Scott’s great gran’ daddy

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bought my great gran’ daddy ‘boutfouah hundred yeahs ago and webeen in de fambly eber since. Ah beende Gen’l’s body servant evah since Ahben a li’le shaver.”

“Your people have sure beenwith the Scotts for some time,Washington,” commented Gordon,with a smile, as he followed the oldman up the grand staircase to thesecond floor.

Gordon’s room lay at the farend of a long hall, overlooking theroof of the veranda, and a pleasant,wooded lawn at the side of the house.

The young man passed thebalance of the day wandering aboutthe grounds, chatting with thenegroes, and longing for the comingof the morrow that would bringVirginia Scott. In the evening he satupon a settee beneath a tree on thefront lawn, smoking and listening tothe banjoes and the singing of thenegroes in their quarters down theroad.

Bordering the fence grew thickshrubbery which hid the road, as italso hid from his eyes the two silentfigures that crept stealthily in itsshadow.

As they watched him Gordonarose, tossed his cigar aside andturned toward the house. Fromacross the bottom lands two milesaway came faintly the rumble of atrain. Suddenly a shrill whistle fromall engine screamed through the quietnight, almost immediately afterwardfollowed by a dull, booming soundthat seemed to shake the earth.Gordon paused and listened.

“If that wasn’t a wreck,” hemused, “it at least sounded mightilylike it, but it probably wasn’t at that.Noises always seem exaggerated at

night.”For a moment Gordon stood

listening, then he turned toward thehouse again, entered it and ascendedto his room. The two figures in theshrubbery circled the grounds untilthey reached a point where theycould see his windows. There theywaited until a light appearingproclaimed that Gordon had gone tohis room.

“We’ll loaf around until he’sasleep,” whispered one of theprowlers.

Fifteen minutes later the lightin Gordon’s chamber wasextinguished.

“He’s turned in,” whispered theother prowler.

“We’ll stick for a quarter of anhour longer,” said the first, “an’ givehim a chance to get to sleep.”

For a while both were silent.The quiet of the soft summer nightwas broken only by the cicadas, thesubdued croaking of frog’s in thebottoms, and strains of Southernmelody from the negro quarters.

“Don’t them coons never go tobed,” growled Kelley querulously.

Taylor made no response. Hewas fidgeting uneasily. He wished thejob well over. Time and again hefingered the automatic in the sidepocket of his coat. Once he drew theweapon out and for the dozenth timethat day removed the cartridge clipand counted the shells. “Nine of ‘emand one in the chamber,” hecommented. “That’s ten — oh! —” Theclip had slipped from his nervousfingers and fallen to the ground.Hastily he snatched it up and slippedit back in the grip of the weapon.

“Come on!” he whispered toKelley. “We’ll sneak in up to his door

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and listen there — this waitin’ getsmy goat.”

“Mine, too,” said Kelley, and thetwo slunk from tree to tree until theywere well in the shadows of thehouse. Then they circled to theveranda steps, mounted and pausedbeside the French doors opening intothe library. Taylor was in advance. Hewas about to enter when a telephonebell broke the silence of the interiorwith a brazen clanging, burstingupon their startled ears with all theterrific volume of a pounding firegong. The two men drew backhurriedly, slinking into the deepershadows at the end of the porch andcrouching behind a swinging porchseat.

Presently a light shone in thelibrary — waveringly at first, andthen brighter and steadier as the oldbutler entered with a lamp and set itupon the table. The telephone bellwas still ringing intermittently. Taylorand Kelley strained their ears tocatch his words, but could not.

He was talking to VirginiaScott. “We decided to come tonightinstead of tomorrow,” she said.“There was a wreck about half a milefrom the station which delayed us —we had to walk in from where theaccident occurred. Send Jackson totown with the machine for us atonce.”

“Yes, Miss ‘Ginia, Ah send himpunctiliously,” replied the old man.

A moment later he was routingJackson out of bed and posting himoff to the village. Taylor and Kelleyremained in hiding, for the old butlerwaited out upon the veranda until hehad seen the car turn into the pikeand disappear in the direction ofScottsville. Then he turned slowly

and entered the house, ploddingupward to his room that he mightdress to properly receive hisreturning mistress. He took the lampwith him, leaving the library lightedonly by the moon which nowstreamed a silver shaft through thedoors and windows.

When they were sure that hehad gone Taylor and Kelley crept fromtheir hiding place and entered thelibrary, leaving the French doors wideopen. At the foot of the stairs theypaused, listening. Some one wasmoving about on the floor above. Itwas the butler. Fearing that he wasreturning to the first floor theconspirators dodged into the musicroom, the doorway of which was closeto the bottom of the stairs.

Ben, King of Beasts, objectedstrenuously to being loaded upon aflat car. Although the processconsisted merely of rolling hiswheeled cage up an incline onto thecar, he objected to every change oflocation which necessitated the closerproximity of hated man, and thedisturbing of his royal reveries.

But loaded he was, and thencame the hateful jolting andpounding of the rumbling train, thescreech of whistles, the grinding ofbrakes, and all the other noises of aswitching circus train in a railroadyard. It seemed an eternity before thelong train pulled out of the villageand the nerve racking discords gaveplace to the rhythmic rumble of theopen right of way, which finally lulledthe irritable beast to slumber — aslumber that was rudely awakenedby a piercing shriek of the engine’swhistle, followed almost immediatelyby a terrific crash, and the pounding

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of the derailed flat over the ties for ahundred yards until at last it toppledinto the ditch, hurling its cargo ofterrified beasts through a barbed wirefence into a field beyond.

Ben’s cage rolled over and over,one end of the top snapping atelegraph pole off short a few feetabove the ground. After it had cometo rest beyond the tangled wire of thedemolished fence the lion lay halfdazed for several minutes. Then herose gingerly, as though expecting todiscover that all his bones had beenbroken. He shook his giant head andrumbled out a low roar. His cage waslying on its side. What was that? Bencocked his head upon one side andgazed incredulously at a gaping rentin front of him. The roof had beentorn away by impact with thetelegraph pole — there was a greathole, barless, through which twolions might have walked abreast.

Ben approached the openingand looked out. Before him stretchedan open meadowland. He raised hisnose and sniffed. A little tremor of joyran through his great frame.

For an instant he stood there,listening. He heard the shouts ofapproaching men mingled with thescreams and roars of terrified beastsabout him. Lightly he sprang throughthe opening in the broken cage. Hewas free! Men were running towardhim from the rear of the train. Theyhad not seen him yet. For an instanthe hesitated as though minded toremain and wreak vengeance on thehuman race; then a glimpse ofdistant woods and the lure of theopen was too much for him. In long,easy bounds he loped away acrossthe meadowland. A shallow swalerunning upland from the railroad

appealed to his primeval instinct forcover. It hid him effectually from thesight of the men now crowding aboutthe derailed flat.

Dropping into a swingingstride, he moved straight upwind. Allabout him was the scent of cattle. Helicked his chops and whined. Abarbed wire fence presently barredhis way. This was something new! Hesniffed inquiringly at it; then hecurled his lips disdainfully at thepuny strands that the foolish man-creatures had thought to imprisonhim with, for he believed that thiswas a new sort of cage constructedespecially to hold him.

He raised a mighty forepaw andsmote it. The sharp barbs pierced hisflesh, eliciting an angry growl. Heraised his eyes to measure the heightof the barrier. It was low, pitifully low.Still growling, Ben bounded over it.The wind now brought down to hisnostrils the strong scent of sheep andcows and swine, filling him with lustfor the hot blood, the dripping flesh ofthe warm, new kill.

Further on a Virginia rail fenceloomed before him. He took it withouta pause and an instant later stood inthe dust of a white turnpike. Acrossthe road was a hedge and frombeyond the hedge came the mingledodors of man and herbivora. The lionlowered his head and walked throughthe hedge. He found himself upon awell kept lawn, dotted here and therewith shrubs and trees. At the far sideof the lawn rose a large whitestructure, gleaming in the moonlight.

Majestically the imperial beastmoved across the close croppedsward — a golden lion on a velvet rugof green. A settee lay in his path. Itwas something new, and all new

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things were to be investigated. Hesniffed at it, and on the instant hiswhole manner changed. A nervoustremor of excitement ran through hissupple body. His tail twitched andtrembled. His eyes glowed brighter. Alow whine broke from his savage lips.

Down went his nose to thegrass. The spoor was fresh and plain— it was the spoor of his one man-friend. Ben followed it across thelawn to the foot of the veranda steps.Here he paused, looking dubiously upat the man-made structure. It mightbe another trap built for his capture;but no, the man-friend was there,and it must be safe.

The lion mounted the steps,still sniffing with lowered nose. Uponthe veranda a new spoor lay fresherover that of the other — a spoor thatset his tail to lashing angrily and puta hideous light into his yellow eyes —wicked and implacable now. Thescent led through open doors into theinterior. The beast thrust his headwithin and surveyed the room. Hesaw no one, but plainly he caught thescent of those whose scent he firsthad learned where it mingled with theblood of his slain mate.

Treading softly, he entered theroom, the thick rug beneath paddedfeet giving forth no sound. In thecenter of the library he halted. A floodof moonlight pouring through theopen doorway fell full upon him,revealing him in all his majesty ofsavage strength and alertness.

For all he moved now he mighthave been a mounted specimenstanding there upon the Oriental rugbeneath his feet, for he was listening.A slight sound had come to thosesensitive ears from out of thedarkness of the music room. His

yellow eyes bored straight aheadthrough the open doorway beforehim.

Taylor, hearing no furthersounds from above, whispered toKelley to follow him. Cautiously hemoved toward the doorway leadinginto the library at the foot of thestairs. As he peered out his eyessuddenly went wide, his lower jawfell, his knees trembled, for, standingmotionless in the center of thelibrary, he saw a huge lion.

For an instant the man wasparalyzed with terror; and then thelion, giving voice to a single quick,short growl, charged. Taylor dodgedback into the music room, tooterrified to scream. Directly behindhim was Kelley. In his mad panic offear Taylor hurled his accomplicebackward to the floor. Then hescrambled beneath a grand pianojust as the lion leaped into the room.The first object that the beast’s eyesencountered was the prostrate formof Kelley. For an instant the beast’sattention was occupied, and Taylortook the slender advantage that washis to scurry from the room and racemadly up the staircase to the secondfloor.

He ran straight for the closeddoor at the far end of the hall, thedoor leading into Richard Gordon’sroom. He scarce reached it when thelion, abandoning the grisly thingupon the music room floor, boundedfrom the room and up the stairway inpursuit.

CHAPTER X

WASHINGTON SCOTT, in the act ofdressing for the return of his

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mistress, heard strange sounds thatfiltered upward from the first floor tohis room upon the third. Seizing hislamp he made his way slowlydownward upon his old and shakylegs. He was in the act of turning theknob of the door at the foot of thestairway that opened into the secondfloor balcony when he heard footstepsrushing frantically past.

Cautiously he opened the doorand peered out in time to see a mandodge into Gordon’s room and closethe door. So quickly had the figuredisappeared that the old butler hadnot recognized the intruder, but hewas sure that it was not Mr. Gordon.He would investigate. Stumpinglaboriously into the hall, he turned inthe direction of Gordon’s room. Hewas just opposite the old fashionedwardrobe built into the wall nearGordon’s door when the rush ofstrange footfalls ascending thestairway caused him to turn his eyesin that direction.

“Gord a-mighty,” shrieked theold man, as his eyes fell upon thehideous visage of the wide-jawedcarnivore.

It was too late to retreat to thestairway down which he had justcome. He had heard the lock turn inGordon’s door. There was only theold-fashioned cupboard in the wallbeside him. Not in fifty years hadWashington Scott moved with suchcelerity as he evinced in the nextquarter second. With a wrench hetore the door open — like a youthfulhurdler he vaulted into the darkcloset, slamming the door to afterhim. Within was a crash of brokenflooring and then silence.

The lion rushed past the oldman’s hiding place without even

pausing to investigate. He was afterbigger game than a decrepit olddarky.

As Taylor dashed into his room,Gordon, awakened by the noise,sprang from his bed. Taylor, knowingthat the time for stealth was past andthat the whole house would bearoused in an instant, drew hisrevolver from the side pocket of hiscoat and fired point blank at Gordonas the latter rose in his bed. Thebullet passed through Gordon’spajama coat and pinged into the wallbehind him.

Then Taylor, with a mental“nine more,” pulled the trigger again.There was no responding report andGordon was upon him. FranticallyTaylor pressed the weapon to hisvictim’s body and pulled the trigger —futilely. In returning the clip to theautomatic when it had fallen to theground from his nervous fingersearlier in the evening he had reversedit, so that the cartridges were pointedto the rear, jamming the mechanismafter the first shot had exploded thecartridge already in the chamber.

Once in Gordon’s grasp, Taylorrealized how hopelessly he wasoutclassed. The clean life of hisantagonist found Taylor helpless inthe other’s power. Yet the man foughton desperately, for he knew that along prison term awaited him shouldhe be made captive now.

Around and around the roomthe two men struggled. Taylor beatmadly at Gordon’s face, but the lattersought the other’s throat, strikingonly occasionally, and then onlywhen a blow could be well deliveredand effective.

In the hall beyond the lion hadhalted before the door to sniff and

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listen. From within came the soundsof combat and the scent of friend andfoe. The great beast opened his widejaws and roared out a thunderouschallenge — a challenge that sentWashington Scott cowering in terrorto the furthermost recesses of thelittle closet and brought Gordon to amomentary pause of wonder in thebattle he was waging for his life in theguest chamber of the Scott mansion.

But Richard Gordon had nottime to give then to all investigationof the terrifying roar just without hisroom. He wondered, but he foughton, slowly but surely overcoming theweakening Taylor.

The lion pushed against thedoor with his forepaw. It did notopen. He clawed at the panels, madly,thunderously. No frail wood couldlong withstand that mighty force.Splinters were torn away. The twomen within the room heard, and onewas terrified and the otherwondering.

Gordon was pushing Taylorback against a table, further andfurther, when the latter, in a suddenand momentary burst of energy,struggled up and fought hisconqueror back a step or two.Beneath their feet lay a rug, rumpledand twisted as they had passed backand forth across it. Gordon’s feetcaught in it as Taylor surged againsthim, and he fell heavily backward,striking his head against the edge ofa chair.

Taylor could scarce credit thegood fortune that had saved him atthe eleventh hour. Gordon layunconscious beneath him. The lionwas battering the door to pieces justbeyond. Behind him was all openwindow leading onto the roof of the

veranda. Taylor half started to makea break for escape from the lion whenthe object of his mission rushed tohis mind.

He had risked too much toabandon all now when success, suchas it was, lay in his grasp. Hastily hesprang to his feet and ran to thechair where Gordon’s clothes lay. Ashe snatched up a garment and beganto run hastily through it a panelcrashed in beneath the lion’spowerful blows and Taylor saw thegleaming, yellow eyes glaring at himthrough the aperture.

With a gasp of terror the manran his hand inside the coat, hisfingers came in contact with a longmanila envelope, and he knew thathe had won. Stuffing the prize intohis own pocket, he turned andscrambled through the window to theroof of the veranda, ran to the edgeand lying upon his stomach loweredhimself quickly until he hung by hishands. Then he let go and dropped toa soft landing in a clump of bushesbeneath.

Almost simultaneously the lastof the door fell in beneath Ben’sbattering, and the lion sprang intothe room. For just an instant helowered his muzzle to the face of theprostrate Gordon, sniffed, whined,and then caught Taylor’s spoor andfollowed it through the window ontothe roof.

Gordon, but momentarilystunned, sat up just in time to seethe hind quarters of the liondisappearing through the window.Leaping to his feet he followed andlooked out. He saw the great beastapproach the spot where Taylor haddropped to the ground. For a momentthe lion stood there measuring the

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distance — it was too great a leap forso heavy a beast except as a lastresort.

Turning quickly away, theanimal trotted to the far end of theroof. Below this there was a low shedand a moment later the carnivore wasslinking through the shrubbery of theScott grounds hot upon the trail ofthe fleeing Taylor.

Gordon, convinced that the lionhad followed Taylor, though filledwith wonder not only that a savage,jungle beast should be roaming atlarge in peaceful Virginia, but as wellthat the brute should have passedhim by without harming him, ranfrom his room, calling the servants.

The old butler, hearing hisvoice, answered him in tremblingtones from his hiding place.

“Mistah Go’don!” he cried.“Where is he? Am he went?”

Gordon paused. The voice cameapparently from the closet besidehim.

“Where are you?” he asked.“Ah’s heah — in dese heah

clos’es hamper. Ah’s stuck fast. If heam went please come an’ hep meouten heah.”

“He’s ‘went’ all right,” repliedGordon, opening the door of thecloset, to find that Washington hadbroken through the bottom and wasso tightly wedged that it required thecombined efforts of them both toliberate him. Other house servantswere timorously creeping down thestairs by this time, but when theyfound that a wild beast was prowlingsomewhere about, most of thempromptly retreated to their rooms,where they fell to praying. A fewremained to follow Gordon back tohis room. A sudden fear had crept

over the young man.Taylor could have followed him

for but one purpose. Had he beensuccessful, after all, in his quest?Gordon found his coat lying on thefloor, and a hasty examinationrevealed the fact that the preciousdocument had been removed from it.Snatching an old fashioned muzzleloader from one of the servants,Gordon hastened down the stairs andout onto the lawn. A sullen roar downin the direction of the negroes’quarters guided him in the directionthe lion had taken, and which was,Gordon felt sure, the same as that inwhich Taylor had fled.

The moment that Taylor hadextricated himself from the bushes heran around to the front of the houseand down past the negroes’ shacks,passing out onto the turnpike belowthem and following that in thedirection of Scottsville. He did notknow that the lion had followed him,imagining that the beast hadremained to maul and possibly todevour Gordon. The thought, while itinduced a shudder, was far fromunwelcome, since it compassed theelimination of Gordon, and so, as faras Taylor knew, the only witness tohis presence in the Scott home.

Behind him a silent shadowmoved along his trail. In long,undulating strides the great catstalked its prey. Taylor had passedbehind the cabins of the negroes, forseveral of the blacks were still sittingbefore their doorsteps strumming ontheir instruments or gossiping amongthemselves; but the lion had caught aglimpse of the quarry, and so nolonger must follow a scent. He hadseen Taylor vault the fence into theturnpike, and without increasing his

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gait he moved straight toward him.His way led past the darkies. Theyhad been discussing the strangesounds that had come from the bighouse.

Broken and muffled fromhaving issued from the interior of thehouse, Ben’s single roar had comedown to them, half drowned by thenearer noise of their banjoes. Onehad thought that it might have beenthe wail of a sick cow, another hadattributed it to “Marse Jeffe-sonScott’s ghos’.”

“It soun’ to me like one a demlines Ah done seen at de cucus las’fall,” ventured a tall, lanky black.

“Wow!” exclaimed a woman.“Don’ you talk no lines aroun’ heahor Ah cain’t sleep a wink tonight forthinkin’ ‘bout ‘em.”

“Sho, honey,” exclaimed thefirst speaker. “Yo don’ need worrynone ‘bout no lines whiles Ah’m‘roun’. Ah eats ‘em alive, Ah does.Dey ain’ nuffing to be afeared of.Why, Ah seen a white man go right ina cage wif ten of ‘em, an’ he takes abig whip an’ he lashes dem lines jessame ‘s if dey was mules. Jes laikdis,” and the darkey seized his banjoby the neck and struck outferociously at imaginary lions.

Swinging around to chastiseone directly behind him, his eyes fellupon the huge head and glitteringeyes of Ben, just protruding fromabout the corner of the cabin a fewpaces away. For one brief, horrified,instant the black man stood petrifiedwith terror. His mouth flew agape, hiseyes started from his head, and then,with a blood curdling shriek, he dovehead foremost for the doorway of thecabin.

The sudden cessation of his

valiant lion taming had attracted theattention of the others to thedirection his eyes had taken. They,too, saw Ben but an instant aftertheir fellow had discovered him.

Their screams mingled withhis, as did their arms and legs andbodies, as the half dozen negroeslaunched themselves simultaneouslyfor the same small doorway.Scrambling, clawing, screaming,fighting, they battled for the safety ofthe interior until they became sotightly wedged in the narrow aperturethat they could make no furtherprogress.

Ben, surprised into a suddenstop at the first sight of them, nowapproached majestically, for his wayled by their threshhold. He paused amoment to sniff at the wildly kickinglegs of the tangled mass. The discordof their fear-laden voices must havegrated upon his nerves, for, with hismouth close to them, he gave vent toa single, mighty roar, and thenpassed on.

The blacks, paralysed by terror,became rigid and silent as death; nordid they move again until long afterthe great beast had passed out ofsight.

Along the road from Scottsvillepurred the big Scott car, bearing Mrs.Scott and Virginia from the station toThe Oaks. A quarter of a mile belowthe negroes’ quarters the car came toa stop.

“What’s the matter, Jackson?”asked Virginia.

“Ah dunno, Miss,” replied thechauffeur, getting down from his seatand raising one side of the bonnet.For a moment he fussed aboutbetween the engine and the controlboard, trying first the starter and

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then the horn.“Ah guess we-all blowed a

fuse,” he announced presently.“Have you others, or must we

walk the rest of the way?” inquiredMrs. Scott.

“Oh, yasam, Ah got some rightyere,” and he raised the cushion fromthe driver’s seat and thrust his handinto the box beneath. For a momenthe fumbled about in search of anextra fuse plug.

“Who’s that coming down theroad?” asked Virginia.

Mrs. Scott and the chauffeurboth looked up. They saw a man,running now, directly in the middle ofthe road and coming in the directionof the machine. An instant later,another figure bounded into sightbehind the man. Mechanically thechauffeur, while he watched theapproaching man, had clipped thenew fuse into place — the car wasready to run again, but at sight of thelion the black lost his headcompletely, uttered a wild yell ofdismay, and bolted for the oppositeside of the road, vaulted the fenceand disappeared.

Mrs. Scott and her daughtersat as though turned to stone as theywatched the frantic efforts of the manto outdistance the grim beast nowrapidly closing up to him.

Directly in the full glare of theheadlights, not a dozen paces fromthe car, the lion overtook his prey.With a savage roar and a mighty leaphe sprang full upon Taylor’s back,hurling him to the ground.

Virginia Scott gasped indismay. In the man’s hand was arevolver, and as he fell he rolled uponhis back and, placing the muzzleagainst the lion’s breast, pulled the

trigger; but again the jammed weaponfailed to work, which was as well, forit would have but inflamed the rage ofthe maddened beast withoutincapacitating him.

For an instant the lion stoodover his fallen enemy. He raised hishead, glaring straight into thebrilliant lights of the automobile.Fascinated with the horror of it, thetwo women watched. They saw Taylorstruggling futilely now beneath thehuge paw that rested upon hisbreast. The man’s nerve was gone, hewhimpered and screamed like aterrified puppy.

“God!” whispered Virginia. “It’sScott!”

Her mother but shuddered anddrew closer to her.

Aggravated by the strugglesand the noise of his prey, Benlowered his head. His distended jawswere close to Taylor’s face, his yelloweyes glared into the fear-mad orbs ofthe man, from his deep chest thererumbled a thunderous roar, then hisjaws closed like a huge steel trap,and Scott Taylor ceased to be.

Mrs. Scott gave a short,involuntary scream and buried herface in her hands. Attracted by thesound, the lion raised his drippingjaws and again eyed the glaring light.Beyond them he could see nothing;but from beyond them had come thesound of a human cry.

Virginia watched the beastintently. Should she and her motherleave the machine and attempt toescape, or were they safer where theywere? The lion could easily trackthem should he care to do so afterthey had left the car. On the otherhand, the strange and unusualvehicle might be sufficient safeguard

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in itself to keep off a nervous junglebeast.

While she was pondering thesequestions Ben continued to gazesteadily toward them. Finally helowered his head to his prey oncemore, sniffed at it a moment, thenseized the body by the shoulder anddragged it a few paces to one side ofthe road. Here the lion was out of thedirect glare of the headlights. Againhe looked toward the car. Now hecould see it. He cocked his head uponone side and rumbled in his throat.He did not like the looks of thisstrange thing. What was it? He wouldinvestigate.

Abandoning Taylor’s body, hepaced slowly forward toward the car.Mrs. Scott shrank closer to Virginia,too terrified by this time to scream.The girl kept her wits, but still was ata loss as to what move to make or asto whether she could make any thatwould be better than remainingrigidly quiet under the lion’sinvestigation.

The beast was beside the carnow. Leisurely, he placed a forepawon the running board and raisedhimself until his giant head toppedthe side of the tonneau. Slowly heintruded his wrinkled muzzle untilhis nose brushed Virginia’s skirt.

Mrs. Scott could bear the strainno longer. With a low moan sitefainted. Now there was no escape forVirginia. The girl steeled herself tomeet the end bravely.

The great cat was sniffing ather skirt and growling hideously.

CHAPTER XI

WITH the old musket in his handsRichard Gordon ran rapidly toward

the negroes’ quarters, from whencehe had heard the lion’s roar. Here hefound the terrified blacks still fast inthe doorway, making no move toextricate themselves. He shouted tothem, asking which way the lion hadgone. Hearing a white man’s voice,the pile disentangled itself andpresently one was sufficientlyrecovered from his terror to informGordon that they did not know whichway the lion had gone, for the simplereason that, all having their eyesshut, they had not known that hehad departed at all until they hadheard Gordon’s voice.

But from the window of anadjoining cabin, a frightened,nightcapped head was thrusttimorously, and a trembling voiceissuing from shaking lips vouchsafedthe information that their owner hadseen the lion leap the fence into theturnpike and disappear in thedirection of town.

Without waiting to listen to theharrowing details which now brokefrom a half dozen pairs of lips,Gordon ran to the fence, vaulted itand started down the road at a rapidtrot. He had gone but a shortdistance when the lion’s roar againsounded, this time straight aheadand at no great distance.

The man, bent solely onovertaking Taylor and wresting themanila envelope from him, wentwarily now that he might avoid thelion, for he was too experienced a biggame hunter to place any reliance onthe archaic weapon he carried. Itwould do to bring Taylor to a stand,but for the lion it was scarceadequate, though in the day of itsprime men had hunted the king ofbeasts with its counterpart — and

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some of them had returned to narratetheir exploits.

A turn in the road revealed theheadlights of an automobile and setGordon to wondering. A little closerand he saw a crumpled somethinglying at the side of the road. Gordoncrept to the shadow of the bushesthat lined the fence. The moon wasbright, the shadows dense. He movedcautiously forward. The thing by theroadside was the body of a man. Itmust be Taylor’s. But where was thelion?

Then he saw him, standingwith his forefeet upon the runningboard of the machine and his headthrust inside the car. A suddenwhimpering from the other side of thebushes where he crouched attractedGordon’s attention. It sounded like aman crying.

“Who is that?” whispered theyoung New Yorker.

“Oh, Lawd!” exclaimed a voicefrom beyond the foliage. “Is dat you,Mistah Go’don? Has de line aten ‘emall up?”

“Eaten whom?” cried Gordon,half recognizing the voice of the Scottchauffeur.

“Mis’ Scott and Miss Virginia —deyse in de car, an’ he’s eaten one of‘em up.”

With a cry that was half curseand half moan Dick Gordon sprang tohis feet and without further attemptat stealth, bounded toward theautomobile. As he ran he shoutedaloud to attract the lion’s attention.The beast withdrew his head from thetonneau and eyed the intruder.Gordon halted a dozen paces fromhim, still calling aloud in the hope ofinducing the beast to leave themachine and come toward him.

With dignity the king of beastslowered his forepaws to the groundand turned about to face the man.

“Are you there, Virginia,” criedGordon. “Are you unhurt?”

“I’m here,” she replied. “He hasnot touched us yet; but you! Oh,Dick, be careful or he’ll get you as hedid Scott.”

“Dick!” She had never used hisfirst name before, and even now inthe midst of danger — in the face ofdeath — his heart leaped in gladresponse to the love and solicitude inher dear voice.

“Can you drive?” he cried.“Yes, I can drive,” she replied.“Then climb over and drive,” he

commanded. “Drive anywhere, as fastas you can, but, for the love ofheaven, get out of here.”

“But you?”“Never mind me, I’m armed,”

and he raised the futile old relic ofRevolutionary days to his shoulder.

The girl, realizing that hermother’s safety lay in her hands andthat neither could help Gordon,clambered over into the driver’s seatand started the engine. With the whirof the starter Ben wheeled about witha low snarl, but in the instant the girldrew the speed lever back into low,pressed down on the accelerator, letin the clutch, and the car shotforward.

Still the lion seemed in doubt.He took a few steps toward the car,which he could easily reach in asingle bound. He paid no attentionnow to Gordon, and the latter, fearingthat the beast might spring upon thepassing car, burned his bridgesbehind him and did the one thingthat occurred to him to divert thebrute’s attention.

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In the few moments that hehad watched the animal he hadbecome half convinced that the lionwas his former friend of the jungleand the steamer. He could not besure, but the magnificent proportionsand the massive head were the same.Even so he could scarce hope thatthe savage beast, maddened by thetaste of human blood and renderednervous by all through which it hadpassed during the brief interval sinceit had entered the Scott home, wouldrecall him or its former friendlinesstoward him.

But this was all apart from themain issue — the saving of Virginiaand her mother from those rendingfangs. The man had held his musketleveled for a moment on the lion’sshoulder, and then, with anexclamation of disgust, had tossed itaside. He would pit all against thechance that the lion was Ben, and so,shouting loudly, he ran straight forthe grim beast.

Glancing behind him the lionsaw the man approaching rapidly. Hepaused, and the car, shooting intosecond and high, sped beyond hisreach. Then the lion turned to faceGordon, and Gordon, seeing that theoccupants of the car were beyondharm, halted in his tracks.

For seconds that seemed hoursto the man the two stood facing eachother. It was the lion who moved first.He advanced slowly and deliberately.The moonlight flooded him. Gordon’seyes dropped to the great forearm,searching for the jagged scar thatmight at least give him some fainthope. Nor did he look in vain, forthere, plain in the moonlight was theserrated mark that told him that thebeast was Ben.

Almost simultaneously with hisdiscovery came a loud hail from thefield below the road. The lion haltedat the sound and both he and Gordonturned their eyes in the direction ofthe voice. They saw three men, armedwith rifles. They were the circusowner and the two keepers. “Standwhere you are,” shouted the owner.“That beast is a devil. Don’t move andwe can get him before he charges.”

At the same instant the threeraised their guns and took aim at thesplendid statue standing rigid in themoonlight.

It has been said that Mr.Richard Gordon was a creature ofimpulse, nor did his next act belie hisreputation. Twice, Ben, King ofBeasts, had spared his life. Tonighthe had captured and punished thescoundrel, who would have killedGordon but for the timely appearanceof the lion. The man’s debt to thebeast was one that Richard Gordoncould not, in honor, ignore.

With a cry of “Don’t shoot!” heleaped toward the lion, placinghimself between the animal and therifles. He was so close that he couldtouch the tawny shoulder. Benlowered his head and sniffedGordon’s clothing. A little whineescaped the savage lips. Gordon putforth his hand and laid it on theshaggy mane and the lion pressedclose against the side, rubbing hishead along the man’s leg.

The astonished owner andkeepers lowered their rifles andapproached a trifle nearer, thoughstill keeping a safe distance.

“For the love o’ Mike,”exclaimed one of them. “Whadyaknow about that!”

“Who in the name of Phineas T.

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Barnum are you, anyway?” asked theowner.

“I’m a friend of Ben’s,” Gordonlaughed back, and then, briefly, hetold them of his past acquaintancewith the animal.

“Want to sell him?” he askedfinally.

“He’s a very valuable animal,”commented the owner, shrewdly,sensing a profitable deal, but Gordoninterrupted him.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll just lethim go and you can come and getyour valuable animal.”

The owner laughed. “You gotme, I guess,” he said. “What’ll yougive me for him?”

“Just what you paid for him,plus transportation charges to theNew York Zoo — I’m going to presenthim to the city.”

“It’s a go,” said the owner. “Wecouldn’t never take him alive withoutyour help.”

“Throw me your ropes,”commanded Gordon. “I’ll put them onhim and then we’ll lead him up theroad to the house of a friend of mineuntil you can get his cage over here.”

Without difficulty he adjustedtwo ropes about Ben’s neck, tossedan end of each to a keeper, patted thelion on the head, and turned hisattention to the body of Taylor besidethe road. His first thought was of themanila envelope and this he quicklyfound and transferred to his ownpocket. Then he sought for signs oflife, but a careful examinationrevealed the fact that Taylor wasdead.

“Come along,” he said, andtaking his place at Ben’s shoulder heled the way up the road to the Scottlawn.

At sight of the lion entering thegrounds the servants who weregathered about the veranda steps fledto the interior of the house, leavingMrs. Scott and Virginia alone. Thegirl saw with relief that Gordon wasunharmed and that the lion had beensecured, and running down the stepsshe hastened forward to meet theyoung man.

Taking both hands in hers ashe stepped forward from the lion, shetried to thank him, but her voicechoked and the words would notcome. He pressed her hands tightly inhis and led her onto the veranda,where Mrs. Scott awaited them.

“At last,” he said, and handedher the manila envelope. She took itin nervous fingers as she thankedhim for all that he had risked anddone for her and here shemechanically tore the wrapper open.In the brilliant moonlight even fineprint might easily have been read,and as she withdrew the contents ofthe envelope she gave a littleexclamation of surprise as her eyesfell upon the sheaf of papers within.

“Why, what are these?” sheexclaimed, running quickly throughthem.

Gordon and Virginia stepped toher side.

“Let us go into the library,” saidMrs. Scott. “I do not find the marriagecertificate here.”

Together the three stepped intothe house. Outside the keepers, eachhaving taken a turn about a tree withhis rope, waited for the return of theowner, who had gone back to thewreck for a team of horses and awheeled cage for Ben. The lion,nervous now that Gordon had lefthim, growled continuously.

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Inside, Virginia, Mrs. Scott andGordon leaned over the long librarytable, upon which were spread thecontents of the manila envelope,under the strong light of a readinglamp. Carefully Gordon examinedeach paper.

“Why these are stockcertificates of considerable value,” hesaid. “There is no marriage certificatehere. But our quest was not entirelyin vain. These certificates, probably ofno great value when they werepurchased years ago, now represent afortune. There are several industrialsalone that are worth today more thana hundred times what they musthave sold for when these were issued.They are in your father’s name, Mrs.Scott.”

“Yes, but the marriagecertificate,” responded the olderwoman. “What can become of it? I sowanted it, after the unjust accusationof Scott Taylor.”

Gordon shook his head.“It is a mystery,” he said. “I

brought every article that remained inthe strong box beneath the hearth.There was no evidence that anotherhad been there before us — had therehe would have removed these also,and the few pieces of jewelry thatwere hidden there.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Scott, with asigh, “of course now it is just asentiment, I suppose, for whetherVirginia is allowed the property of hergrandfather or not she will beindependently wealthy in possessionof these stocks alone.”

Just then a startled cryresounded through the house. Itcame from the music room behindthem, and as they turned in thatdirection they beheld Washington

Scott, ashy blue from fright, rushtrembling into the library from themusic room.

“Oh, Lordy, Miss Ruth!” hecried. “Dere’s a daid man in de musicroom — wif his face all chawed off’nhim. Oh, Lordy!”

Gordon stepped quickly to thedoor of the music room, and there onthe floor revealed by the light fromthe library lamp that filtered into theroom, lay a sight that caused him toturn and warn back Virginia, whowas following close upon his heels.

“Ben has been here ahead ofus,” he explained. “This must be oneof Taylor’s companions — Kelleyprobably, though his face is notrecognizable now. Washington,” hecontinued, turning to the shakingblack, “bring me a sheet — I’ll coverthis — and then you might telephoneto town for the Coroner and anundertaker.”

When Washington had fulfilledhis missions he clung closely aboutthe family, evidently terrified at thethought of going to other parts of thehouse for fear he might stumble uponothers of Ben’s victims.

“Let’s go upstairs and seewhere he broke down the door of yourroom, Dick,” suggested Virginia, andtogether, Washington bringing up therear, they all filed up the stairway.The splintered door filled the twowomen with amazement, so completehad been its destruction, and thenWashington, wishing to share some ofthe glory of the adventure, calledtheir attention to his hiding place.

“Ah done broke through debottom,” he giggled nervously.

Virginia, taking a lamp fromthe old servant’s hand, peered intothe cupboard.

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“Why, there’s quite an openingbeneath this,” she remarked, andreflecting the lamp’s rays downwardwith her palm she looked into theblack hole beneath the splinteredflooring. A moment later she hadthrust her hand and arm deep intothe aperture, and when she withdrewthem she held a shiny, black box.

“What do you suppose this isdoing here?” she asked.

“It must have been a secrethiding place of your grandfather’s forvaluables,” suggested her mother.

“Let’s have a look at thecontents then,” cried the girl, but thebox would not open to her efforts.

She handed it to Gordon.“See if you can open it,” she

said.Gordon examined it for a

moment.“It’s locked — we’ll have to pry

it open,” he said. “Get a screw driver,please, Washington, and we’ll godown to the library again andinvestigate Miss Virginia’s find.”

By the time Washington hadlocated a screw driver the others hadgathered once more about the librarytable, the little black box the center ofattraction. With the tool Gordonquickly pried the lid open, disclosinga number of papers within. These hehanded immediately to Mrs. Scott,who ran through them quickly. “Why,here’s your grandfather’s missingwill, Virginia,” she cried, handing alegal appearing document to the girl.

“Sure enough,” exclaimed thelatter, glancing through it. “And it isjust as Judge Sperry said, he has lefteverything to me, with the exceptionof the income from certain propertywhich is to be yours, mother, duringthe balance of your life.”

“What is in that manilaenvelope?” asked Gordon. “It bears astartling resemblance to one that Icarried from Central Africa to CentralVirginia.”

Virginia picked up the envelopein question and opened it. Her voicerounded into a little “Oh!” of delightedsurprise.

“Why, mother!” she cried. “Hereit is right here. Here it has been allthe time, right under our noses, andwe never knew it and sent Dickalmost to his death looking for it inAfrica,” and she handed the muchsought for and elusive marriagecertificate to her mother.

A hand long dead had placed itin that envelope, and in the hurry ofRobert Gordon’s departure from themission had mistaken the manilaenvelope containing it for anotheridentically like it which held thevaluable stock certificates thatReverend Sangamon Morton hadwished to send to his son-in-law’sfather for safe-keeping.

“My mission was not entirelyfruitless, however,” remarkedGordon, gazing smilingly intoVirginia’s eyes.

“Indeed it was not,” cried Mrs.Scott, not catching the doublemeaning of his words. “Had it notbeen for you Ben would have died inthe pit the natives dug for him.Washington would not have had toclamber into the cupboard to escapehim, and the secret of the falsebottom and the little box might havegone undiscovered for generations. Inreality it is to you we owe the findingof the stock certificates — and,candidly I am most interested in themarriage certificate; but then I am asentimental old woman,’’ and she

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laughed gently.“I too am interested in a

marriage certificate,’’ remarkedGordon, and again he looked intoVirginia’s eyes, and again she lookedaway.

A few minutes later the youngpeople strolled out onto the lawntogether to have a look at Ben. Thegreat lion whined a delighted welcomeas he caught sight of Gordon. The girlhe permitted to approach him, too.On either side of the massive headthe two stood, their fingers twined inthe black mane. Across the savagehead their eyes met, and held.

“I love you,” said Mr. RichardGordon, for the keepers weredrowsing at their posts.

Virginia cast a quick glance intheir direction. Neither was looking.She leaned forward toward the man,and their lips met above the fierceand loyal head of Ben, King of Beasts.

And if you do not believe theirstory, just go to the Zoo the next timeyou are in New York, and look for agreat, black maned lion with a scarupon one of his mighty forearms.