Maxwell expressed his approval of the recruits Dane brought in, for Dom Pedro had chosen well. They were sturdy, woolly-haired Kroomen from Liberia who had gained some experience of forest warfare in petty skirmishes with the troops of the black republic. It is noticeable that the untamed African cherishes little love for his partly civilized brother. When he had harangued them, the two white men sat talking together.

"I would give a good deal to know what is in Dom Pedro's mind just now," said Maxwell. "It is quite possible that the offer he made you was genuine. There is, if one may say it without appealing to your vanity, a certain air of solidity and force about you which might appeal to a man of his type who could supply all the finesse necessary—and who possesses a troublesome enemy. The map would in any case be of little use to Dom Pedro, who would never venture into the Leopards' country; and I hardly fancy he would give it to Rideau. In the meantime our own program is clear. We start again at sunrise to-morrow."

"Are you not taking too much for granted when you assume that Dom Pedro has the map?" asked Dane; and Maxwell smiled enigmatically but did not answer.

A few days later they halted at sunset beside a stream which, contrary to the custom of most African rivers, flowed clear as crystal over yellow sand. Wooded hills whose hollows were filled with drifting steam sloped steeply upward from the opposite bank, and the black shadow of a few palms lengthened across the grass behind the waiting men. There was nothing remarkable about the river or its surroundings; but heathen, missionary convert, and dusky Moslem alike shrank back murmuring from its bank.

"This is our Rubicon, and beyond it lies the Leopards' country," said Maxwell. "It is not a very imposing stream, but I believe no white man has ever crossed it without suffering from his rashness, since the days of the early Portuguese. Something has evidently startled the boys. As I partly expected, here it is."

Maxwell pointed to a slender wand set up beside the bank. A tuft of reddened rags was tied to it, and beneath them hung a piece of sun-dried clay rudely modeled into the resemblance of a leopard.

"I would rather have seen fifty men with flint-locks than this trumpery thing," he declared. "You don't quite grasp its significance, Hilton? Well, in this land anything may be made the emblem of the Ju-ju, and that is the insignia of a powerful one I have alluded to several times already."

"I could never understand what a Ju-ju is."

"Very few white men do, but its ministers are a force to reckon with; and this piece of clay signifies that many unpleasant things, varying from slow poisoning to death by violence, may happen to the man who disregards it. You can see that the boys are afraid of it."

"We can't stay here forever because some benighted heathen has tied it to a stick," expostulated Dane. "Here's a challenge to the powers of darkness. Watch and try to understand, you boy! If them thing be no fit to hurt me, it can't hurt you. That's logic, or, as you say, the Lord he give me sense too much, isn't it?"

The eyes of the spectators grew wide with horror as, snapping the wand across his knee, he next crushed the leopard beneath his heel; and there was a heavy silence while they waited to see what would follow this bold defiance of the forest deity. So real was their terror, and the hush so impressive, that Dane felt his own heart beating faster than it generally did, and when he laughed the laugh rang hollow. But nothing unusual happened; and with murmurs of relief the men followed him as he splashed through the ford.

"It was necessary," said Maxwell with noticeable gravity. "Nevertheless, we will double our sentries henceforward, and recharge our filters. There is no doubt that the powers of darkness will take up your challenge."

They pitched camp among the cottonwoods at the mouth of a ravine, and, when they had eaten, sat for a time within their little tent poring over a map issued privately for the use of French officials. Innumerable insects dimmed the light of the lamp above them, and they could scarcely see the lettering.

"We are here," said Maxwell, laying his finger on the paper, "on the threshold of what the niggers call the Leopards' country, which is marked as partly explored territory, with this patch to represent the dominions of King, or headman, Shaillu. A few armed expeditions have traversed it farther east, and found it thinly peopled by petty tribes hostile to Europeans, while nobody knows much about Shaillu except that he abruptly broke off the negotiations he once began with the authorities. That showed the hand of his priests, and brings us back to the Leopard League."

Dane laid down his damp cigar, and listened with keen interest as Maxwell explained.

"As you have heard, secret leagues of all kinds are common in this country, and that of the Leopard is probably one of the most powerful. Its priestly leaders are apparently the power behind the throne in Shaillu's dominions, and, so the natives say, those they favor with a share of their supernatural qualities can render themselves invisible or take the shape of beasts. Like their namesake, they always strike at night. Dismissing all idea of witchcraft, you can take very ingenious human cunning, a thorough knowledge of poisoning, and no mean strategic skill, for granted. Once the white man settles in their country the power of the bush magician must decline; and the deduction you can draw from that should justify a close watch to-night. It is your turn until twelve o'clock, Hilton."

Dane found it a somewhat depressing watch when the cooking fires had died out and the sounds which gather depth with the darkness emphasized the hush of the forest. There was nothing visible but the faint glimmer of the lighted tent, which suggested a huge Chinese lantern set down among the dripping undergrowth. Behind it loomed dim ghosts of trees. Moisture fell drumming upon the tight-strained canvas; and at intervals some beast in the forest sent up an unearthly scream. The darkness was filled with the scent of wood smoke and lilies, and thickened by wisps of drifting steam.

The time dragged by slowly; but at last Dane was about to make a final round, when a stealthy rustling held him rigidly still, save that his left hand slid farther along the rifle barrel. The sound ceased and began again, and it became certain that something or somebody was crawling toward the tent. It could hardly be one of the carriers, for Maxwell had intimated that any man found wandering in the darkness would promptly be fired upon. Dane could feel his heart throbbing, but his fingers were steady on the cool barrel as he waited, realizing instinctively that death or danger in some strange shape was drawing near. Nevertheless he was silent, fearing to rouse the camp on a false alarm, and also because he wished to make certain of their unseen enemy.

For a space of a few seconds there was no sound at all, and he grew the more uneasy, knowing that the naked bushman learns by sheer necessity to wriggle almost silently through the undergrowth. Then he found it hard to repress a cry of astonishment as, for a moment, a monstrous shape was silhouetted against the faintly illuminated canvas. It was bulkier than a man, and though it stood upright, its head was that of a beast. Maxwell was clearly in danger, there was no time to lose, and, pitching up the rifle, Dane pressed the trigger. A streak of red fire rent the darkness, and a spark blew into his eyes. He felt the jerk of the barrel, and then, though he scarcely heard the explosion, he caught a thud there is no mistaking—the sound made by the impact of a solid bullet.

As he snapped down the lever and slid home another cartridge, something dim and shadowy rushed past, and the rifle blazed again. Then there was a snapping of undergrowth, a yell from a sentry, the crash of a Snider, and the camp awoke to life. Maxwell, holding up a lamp, sprang half-dressed from the tent, black men rose out of the shadows clamoring excitedly, and Dane's headman, Monday, stood close beside him, peering into the darkness with his long Snider rifle held out before him. Monday was not a timid man, but he looked distinctly uneasy when the light of Maxwell's lantern fell upon his face.

Dane briefly related what had happened; and Maxwell lowered his lantern.

"The Leopards have made their first move, and lost a man, I think," he said. "Most black men are able to carry off considerable lead, but this red trail on the undergrowth is significant. It also appears quite probable that you have saved my life."

Just then, there was a shrill scream in the forest, a scream of human agony, horrible and intense, and afterward a silence that could be felt.

"Them ghost leopard he done go chop some boy!" exclaimed Monday, trembling a little. "We savvy fight black man, sah, but not them debbil."

"The sound rose from behind the tuft of palms," Maxwell said quietly. "Take six of your best men, Monday, and see who is missing. No—stay where you are, Hilton! It is advisable to break them in to this kind of thing."

Monday went reluctantly, and returned to say that one of the sentries and his gun had vanished completely. Then a half-naked man with a matchet burst through the wondering group which had gathered about the pair, demanding assistance to search for his brother.

Maxwell glanced at him, hesitated, and, while Dane protested, shook his head."We could never track them, even in broad daylight; and some of the rescue party would not come back," he explained. "By this time the poor devil is certainly dead, and I feel convinced that we shall find him to-morrow without searching. Amadu, tell your boys to fire on any man trying to leave the camp."

Maxwell kept watch himself henceforward, and Dane retired to the tent, resigned though far from contented. He had learned that, if his ways were a trifle autocratic, his comrade was a leader who could be trusted, and though he longed with a vindictive yearning to search the forest, rifle in hand, he did not consider it judicious to question Maxwell's authority.

It was a relief when morning came, and somewhat silently they began the march again. The path wound up a ravine, through climbing forest that rotted as it grew, where grotesque and ghostly orchids sprouted from each crumbling bough, and there was scarcely room for two men abreast in the rutted trail. It had been worn deep by the passage of naked feet; for gum, skins, and a little ivory came down on the heads of slave trains out of Shaillu's country.

Maxwell, with a few picked men, led the way, after giving Dane orders not to follow him too closely with the main body; but the latter found it hard to restrain his carriers, who desired to leave the site of the camp as far behind them as possible.

Dane had lagged a little behind the long line of colored headgear, cases poised aloft on woolly crowns, white draperies, and patches of sable skin, which wound on before him through the green of the tangled jungle, when Maxwell's voice came back sharply.

"Lead your boys wide into the bush, Hilton! Break through for several hundred yards, and send them on before you. Turn back and rejoin me alone when you strike the trail again!"

It was done, though Dane fell over an ant-heap and into a network of horrible thorny trailers which tore the flesh about his ankles. Hurrying back along the trail, he found Maxwell standing behind a screen of resplendent creepers, lighting a cigar with a hand that was not quite steady. His eyes were positively savage, and a patch in the center of each cheek was gray. Startled as Dane was, it was nevertheless soothing to find that his comrade shared some, at least, of the weaknesses of their common humanity. He could not mistake the intensity of Maxwell's anger.

"Prepare yourself for a surprise, Hilton, and then see what awaits you beyond that bush," he said. "I had partly expected it, but when I came upon it the sight almost sickened me."

Dane's nerves were tolerably good, but when he passed the creepers he experienced a shock of nausea and halted abruptly. Two black men were scooping out a trench, while another crouched near by, crooning something while he ran his thumb caressingly up and down a matchet blade. He looked up at the white man's coming, and his face was a study. Horror was stamped upon it; but a slow, relentless ferocity was written there too. This Dane saw with his first glance, but after the second he turned his eyes away. Maxwell was right. They had found the missing sentry. The object—for there was little resemblance of humanity left in what lay a foul blotch on the forest before him—was stretched across the trail; and the neck was twisted so that the face, left whole, looked down the pathway the way the expedition should have come, distorted and ghastly, with its changeless grin of pain. Words appeared superfluous, but Dane's sensations demanded relief in speech.

"Horrible! horrible! But what is the matter with Bad Dollar? He looks positively murderous!"

"It is not surprising," answered Maxwell. "The African is not always admirable in his domestic relations, but what lies yonder was his brother."

Dane, stooping, patted the negro's head.

"It will be a bad day for some of the Leopards when he settles that score. Listen to me, Maxwell. Heaven knows whether through greed I am responsible for part of this; but I most solemnly promise that if ever I can find the master fiend who inspired the murderers, I'll avenge that poor devil, as well as Lyle, the trader, whatever it costs me. We're partners in this affair, Bad Dollar!"

It is probable that the naked heathen attached little meaning to the words, but he understood the hoarseness of the white man's voice, and the steely glint in his eyes. He laid his black hands on the speaker's foot.

"It is a bargain," Dane said gravely. "I mean to keep it, Maxwell."

"You are a little impetuous," was the quiet answer. "Some day there will, I hope, be a reckoning; but a wise man says little and awaits his opportunity. Our turn has not come yet. When it does I do not think you will find me dilatory. Meanwhile, I'm puzzled. There are points connected with this affair which are far from clear; but those fellows have finished and we will go on again."

Beyond instructing Dane and his immediate followers to keep the occurrence secret, Maxwell said nothing further until noon had passed, when Dane asked a question.

"Why did the Leopards make their first move now, when we could, if we wished it, retreat, instead of waiting until we had penetrated farther into their country?"

"It is a pertinent question," said Maxwell. "For one thing, this is, after all, King Shaillu's country, and they possibly fear that if we once have speech with him, the headman, who, so the French officers told me, has a hankering after civilization, might extend us protection. But that does not quite account for everything. You remember Miss Castro's mention of the following shadow? Events have proved her predictions signally correct hitherto, and I am inclined to fancy that the worst danger still lies behind us and not before."

Maxwell vouchsafed no further information, and though Dane knew it was well the expedition had for its leader a man unmoved alike by excess of anger or misguided pity, he could not help retorting: "You foresee a good deal, Carsluith. It is unfortunate you could not more often prevent it. Why could you not have told me more of what you anticipated?"

Maxwell laughed good-humoredly.

"Isn't it apparent that what I prevent from happening does not occur? As to the last question, perhaps the African's answer, 'You never asked me,' is the best. One dreads so much that it appeared useless to harrow your feelings until I was certain."

The march through headman Shaillu's dominions left upon Dane only a series of blurred impressions. He was too sick to notice definite details most of the time; but he decided that under no circumstances could it be considered a cheerful country. For days together the expedition floundered through dripping forest so laced and bound with creepers that at noon the daylight could hardly filter down. The atmosphere resembled that of a Turkish bath; moisture splashed upon the broad leaves everywhere, and the heat and the gloom together produced a distressing lassitude. This the white men made strenuous efforts to resist, knowing that they might blunder into an ambush at any moment.

It was evident that their enemies had not lost touch with them; for in spite of their keenest vigilance, a carrier was twice spirited out of camp at night. Once Dane, making the rounds with a lantern, came upon a sentry huddled beneath a cottonwood. He had paid a heavy penalty for his drowsiness. Even Maxwell showed signs of temper at this, and the expedition waited two nights in camp while its leaders prowled through the forest in an attempt to surprise the assassins. It was, of course, a failure. They returned at sunrise, muddy, ragged, and savage, having neither seen nor heard anything suspicious.

The fact that they never did see their persecutors was the most harassing feature of it all; and at last Dane grew by turns murderously resentful and subject to fits of limp dejection, in which the fever had doubtless a share. The few villages they passed were empty. Where a river crossed their path the canoes had been taken away; and at intervals detachments of the carriers fell sick mysteriously. When they limped out into a waste of crackling, sword-edged grass, the glare and dust and heat were bewildering, and after a few days Dane longed for the forest again.

Still they held on, and one evening they marched, blanched in face, and very weary, into sight of one of the strongholds of headman Shaillu.