succeeded by a plaint whose heartrending sadness was like some poison turning the blood cold in the veins.  Then a strong voice pronounced several distinct incomprehensible words somewhere beyond the creek.  “Let no one fire,” shouted Brown.  “What does it mean?” . . .  “Do you hear on the hill?  Do you hear?  Do you hear?” repeated the voice three times.  Cornelius translated, and then prompted the answer.  “Speak,” cried Brown, “we hear.”  Then the voice, declaiming in the sonorous inflated tone of a herald, and shifting continually on the edge of the vague waste-land, proclaimed that between the men of the Bugis nation living in Patusan and the white men on the hill and those with them, there would be no faith, no compassion, no speech, no peace.  A bush rustled; a haphazard volley rang out.  “Dam’ foolishness,” muttered the Yankee, vexedly grounding the butt.  Cornelius translated.  The wounded man below the hill, after crying out twice, “Take me up! take me up!” went on complaining in moans.  While he had kept on the blackened earth of the slope, and afterwards crouching in the boat, he had been safe enough.  It seems that in his joy at finding the tobacco he forgot himself and jumped out on her off-side, as it were.  The white boat, lying high and dry, showed him up; the creek was no more than seven yards wide in that place, and there happened to be a man crouching in the bush on the other bank.

’He was a Bugis of Tondano only lately come to Patusan, and a relation of the man shot in the afternoon.  That famous long shot had indeed appalled the beholders.  The man in utter security had been struck down, in full view of his friends, dropping with a joke on his lips, and they seemed to see in the act an atrocity which had stirred a bitter rage.  That relation of his, Si-Lapa by name, was then with Doramin in the stockade only a few feet away.  You who know these chaps must admit that the fellow showed an unusual pluck by volunteering to carry the message, alone, in the dark.  Creeping across the open ground, he had deviated to the left and found himself opposite the boat.  He was startled when Brown’s man shouted.  He came to a sitting position with his gun to his shoulder, and when the other jumped out, exposing himself, he pulled the trigger and lodged three jagged slugs point-blank into the poor wretch’s stomach.  Then, lying flat on his face, he gave himself up for dead, while a thin hail of lead chopped and swished the bushes close on his right hand; afterwards he delivered his speech shouting, bent double, dodging all the time in cover.  With the last word he leaped sideways, lay close for a while, and afterwards got back to the houses unharmed, having achieved on that night such a renown as his children will not willingly allow to die.

’And on the hill the forlorn band let the two little heaps of embers go out under their bowed heads.  They sat dejected on the ground with compressed lips and downcast eyes, listening to their comrade below.  He was a strong man and died hard, with moans now loud, now sinking to a strange confidential note of pain.  Sometimes he shrieked, and again, after a period of silence, he could be heard muttering deliriously a long and unintelligible complaint.  Never for a moment did he cease.