ready in his hands, and his eyes directed in careful watchfulness
along the way that he had come.

Almost instantly Jane Clayton recognized the man as M. Jules
Frecoult, who so recently had been a guest in her home. She was
upon the point of calling to him in glad relief when she saw him
leap quickly to one side and hide himself in the thick verdure at
the trail's side. It was evident that he was being followed by an
enemy, and so Jane Clayton kept silent, lest she distract Frecoult's
attention, or guide his foe to his hiding place.

Scarcely had Frecoult hidden himself than the figure of a white-robed
Arab crept silently along the trail in pursuit. From her hiding
place, Jane Clayton could see both men plainly. She recognized
Achmet Zek as the leader of the band of ruffians who had raided her
home and made her a prisoner, and as she saw Frecoult, the supposed
friend and ally, raise his gun and take careful aim at the Arab,
her heart stood still and every power of her soul was directed upon
a fervent prayer for the accuracy of his aim.

Achmet Zek paused in the middle of the trail. His keen eyes
scanned every bush and tree within the radius of his vision. His
tall figure presented a perfect target to the perfidious assassin.
There was a sharp report, and a little puff of smoke arose from
the bush that hid the Belgian, as Achmet Zek stumbled forward and
pitched, face down, upon the trail.

As Werper stepped back into the trail, he was startled by the sound
of a glad cry from above him, and as he wheeled about to discover
the author of this unexpected interruption, he saw Jane Clayton