"Do you think he will try to make Halket do it?" asked the Englishman.

"Of course he will. He's the Devil in; and Halket had better not make a
fuss about it, or it'll be the worse for him."

"His time's up tomorrow evening!"

"Yes, but not tomorrow morning. And I wouldn't make a row about it if I
was Halket. It doesn't do to fall out with the authorities here. What's
one nigger more or less? He'll get shot some other way, or die of hunger,
if we don't do it."

"It's hardly sport to shoot a man tied up neck and legs," said the
Englishman; his finely drawn eyebrows contracting and expanding a little.

"Oh, they don't feel, these niggers, not as we should, you know. I've seen
a man going to be shot, looking full at the guns, and falling like that!--
without a sound. They've no feeling, these niggers; I don't suppose they
care much whether they live or die, not as we should, you know."

The Englishman's eyes were still fixed on the bushes, behind which Halket's
head appeared and disappeared.

"They have no right to order Halket to do it--and he will not do it!" said
the Englishman slowly.

"You're not going to be such a fool as to step in, are you?" said the
Colonial, looking curiously at him. "It doesn't pay. I've made up my mind
never to speak whatever happens. What's the good? Suppose one were to