Trent smiled very faintly, but he said nothing. He was sitting
cross-legged with his back against one of the poles which supported
the open hut, with his eyes fixed upon the cloud of mist hanging
over a distant swamp. A great yellow moon had stolen over the low
range of stony hills - the mist was curling away in little wreaths
of gold. Trent was watching it, but if you had asked him he would
have told you that he was wondering when the alligators came out
to feed, and how near the village they ventured. Looking at his
hard, square face and keen, black eyes no one would surely have
credited him with any less material thoughts.

"Furthermore," the man whom Trent had addressed as Monty continued,
"there arises the question of danger and physical suitability to
the situation. Contrast our two cases, my dear young friend. I am
twenty-five years older than you, I have a weak heart, a ridiculous
muscle, and the stamina of a rabbit. My fighting days are over. I
can shoot straight, but shooting would only serve us here until our
cartridges were gone - when the rush came a child could knock me
over. You, on the contrary, have the constitution of an ox, the
muscles of a bull, and the wind of an ostrich. You are, if you will
pardon my saying so, a magnificent specimen of the animal man. In
the event of trouble you would not hesitate to admit that your
chances of escape would be at least double mine. Trent lit a match
under pretence of lighting his pipe - in reality because only a few
feet away he had seen a pair of bright eyes gleaming at them through
a low shrub. A little native boy scuttled away - as black as night,
woolly-headed, and shiny; he had crept up unknown to look with
fearful eyes upon the wonderful white strangers. Trent threw a lump
of earth at him and laughed as he dodged it.