woman or any of his own followers.

At last the moment came, and Achmet Zek pulled the trigger. Without
a sound the brave Mugambi sank to the floor at the feet of Jane
Clayton.

An instant later she was surrounded and disarmed. Without a word
they dragged her from the bungalow. A giant Negro lifted her to the
pommel of his saddle, and while the raiders searched the bungalow
and outhouses for plunder he rode with her beyond the gates and
waited the coming of his master.

Jane Clayton saw the raiders lead the horses from the corral, and
drive the herds in from the fields. She saw her home plundered
of all that represented intrinsic worth in the eyes of the Arabs,
and then she saw the torch applied, and the flames lick up what
remained.

And at last, when the raiders assembled after glutting their fury
and their avarice, and rode away with her toward the north, she
saw the smoke and the flames rising far into the heavens until the
winding of the trail into the thick forests hid the sad view from
her eyes.

As the flames ate their way into the living-room, reaching out forked
tongues to lick up the bodies of the dead, one of that gruesome
company whose bloody welterings had long since been stilled, moved
again. It was a huge black who rolled over upon his side and opened
blood-shot, suffering eyes. Mugambi, whom the Arabs had left for
dead, still lived. The hot flames were almost upon him as he raised