So leaving the fire burning in front of their bough shelter, they waded the stream and started up the opposing slope, meeting no man.  Dark as it was, Jeekie seemed to have no difficulty in finding the way, for as Fahni said, a native does not forget the path he has once travelled.  All night long they walked rapidly, and when dawn broke found themselves at the edge of the forest.

“Jeekie,” said Alan, “what did Fahni mean by that tale about white people?”

“Don’t know, Major, think perhaps he lie to let you down easy.  My golly! what that?”

As he spoke a distant echo reached their ears, the echo of a rifle shot.  “Think Fanny not lie after all,” went on Jeekie; “that white man’s gun, sharp crack, smokeless powder, but wonder how he come in this place.  Well, we soon find out.  Come on, Major.”

Tired as they were they broke into a run; the prospect of seeing a white face again was too much for them.  Half a mile or so further on they caught sight of a figure evidently engaged in stalking game among the trees, or so they judged from his cautious movements.

“White man!” said Jeekie, and Alan nodded.

They crept forward silently and with care, for who knew what this white man might be after, keeping a great tree between them and the man, till at length, passing round its bole, they found themselves face to face with him and not five yards away.  Notwithstanding his unaccustomed tropical dress and his face burnt copper colour by the sun, Alan knew the man at once.

“Aylward!” he gasped; “Aylward!  You here?”

He started.  He stared at Alan.  Then his countenance changed.  Its habitual calm broke up as it was wont to do in moments of deep emotion.  It became very evil, as though some demon of hate and jealousy were at work behind it.  The thin lips quivered, the eyes glared, and without spoken word or warning, he lifted the rifle and fired straight at Alan.  The bullet missed him, for the aim was high.  Passing over Alan’s head, it cut a neat groove through the hair of the taller Jeekie who was immediately behind him.

Next instant, with a spring like that of a tiger Jeekie was on Aylward.  The weight of his charge knocked him backwards to the ground, and there he lay, pinned fast.

“What for you do that?” exclaimed the indignant Jeekie.  “What for you shoot through wool of respectable nigger, Sir Robert Aylward, Bart.?  Now I throttle you, you dirty hog-swine.  No Magistrates’ Court here in Dwarf Forest,” and he began to suit the action to the word.

“Let him go, Jeekie.  Take his rifle and let him go,” exclaimed Alan, who all this while had stood amazed.  “There must be some mistake, he cannot have meant to murder me.”

“Don’t know what he mean, but know his bullet go through my hair, Major, and give me new parting,” grumbled Jeekie as he obeyed.

“Of course it was a mistake, Vernon, for I suppose it is Vernon,” said Aylward, as he rose.  “I do not wonder that your servant is angry, but the truth is that your sudden appearance frightened me out of my wits and I fired automatically.  We have been living in some danger here and my nerves are not as strong as they used to be.”