The man called Charley stepped forward. Mills saw the face and hand
of a man standing upright, brilliantly illuminated by the flame of
the match; and on the ground three men, who knelt on and about a
prostrate figure. One was busy with some cord. In the background
stood Mills's Kafirs. The match burned down to the holder's fingers,
and he dropped it.

"Well, Dave," said Mills, "what's the meanin' o' this game o' yours--
comin' to a man's kia in the middle o' the night and ropin' his mate
out o' bed?"

The man who had lit the match laughed. "That you, Jack?" he said.
"Well, you wouldn't be so ready to call this bloke 'mate' if you knew
what he'd been up to."

"The--swine!" commented Charley.

"Get a lantern," commanded Mills to the Kafirs. "What d'you mean?" he
asked of the tall man.

"He shot a woman," said Dave. The tone was eloquent of the speaker's
rage and disgust.

Mills stared open-mouthed. "A woman!" he gasped.

"A woman," replied Dave. "Shot her, as bold as the devil, on the
street, in the daytime, and did a bolt for the bush. Every man that
could put foot to the ground is out after him."

A kafir arrived then with the lantern Mills had designed for the