Bertha Kircher sat down at the far side of the hut awaiting she knew not what impending fate. She could not sleep so filled was her mind with wild schemes of escape though each new one must always be discarded as impractical. Half an hour after the warrior had returned her to her prison he rose and entered the hut where he tried to engage in conversation with her. Groping across the interior he leaned his short spear against the wall and sat down beside her, and as he talked he edged closer and closer until at last he could reach out and touch her. Shrinking, she drew away.
"Do not touch me!" she cried. "I will tell Usanga if you do not leave me alone and you know what he will do to you."
The man only laughed drunkenly and reaching out his hand grabbed her arm and dragged her toward him. She fought and cried aloud for Usanga and at the same instant the entrance to the hut was darkened by the form of a man.
"What is the matter?" shouted the newcomer in the deep tones that the girl recognized as belonging to the black sergeant. He had come; but would she be any better off? She knew that she would not unless she could play upon Usanga's fear of his woman.
When Usanga found what had happened he kicked the warrior out of the hut and bade him begone and when the fellow had disappeared, muttering and grumbling, the sergeant approached the white girl. He was very drunk, so drunk that sev-
