A puff of cool air streaming in through an open port roused the sleeper, and he became conscious of a restful lift and swing. The hammock boys, it seemed, had a good path beneath them and were traveling well. But the swing was longer than that of any hammock, and a steady vibration, which resembled no sound in the forest, recalled him to remembrance. He recognized that it was made by pounding engines. The air that fanned him was also fresh and invigorating, and Dane lay still again with a sense of vast relief. The time of strain was over, and now for a space at least he could rest. Dressing languidly, he went up on deck.

The ocean gleamed, a great sheet of rippling silver, under the moon. Clear stars burned above the mastheads, which swayed to and fro athwart them, while the splash of tumbling waters and the sting of flung-up spray seemed charged with healing. Lights shone in the smoking-room windows, through which laughter and a murmur of voices came out, but just then merriment would have jarred on Dane, and he leaned over the rails, baring his head to the breeze, and trying to realize what had happened to him. He felt that the shadow which had hung over him had melted while he slept, and escaping from its baleful darkness, which had obscured his mental vision, he had awakened sane. Then, though for the sake of one who slept on a lonely bluff beyond the Leopards' country, Dane did not regret what had been done, he shuddered, remembering the one grim purpose which had dominated him.

"We did not expect to see you yet," said the skipper, halting beside him with the doctor. "Of course, we have had only one topic of conversation."

"What is the general opinion?" Dane asked indifferently.

"My glass is an old one, but the mate has one of the latest inventions," the skipper answered. "He declares it was the white man who upset the canoe, and did it deliberately."

"I should like to see the mate," exclaimed Dane. "If he is right it would to some extent be a relief to me."

"I haven't quite relinquished my authority yet," the doctor interposed. "One might conclude it would be wise for you to give your mind a rest from that particular subject. A good many things happen in this country which it is well to forget; and there are signs that your load has been as heavy as you are fit to carry."

"It is good advice, if somewhat hard to profit by," said Dane; and the two men turned away. The skipper's words, however, had removed his last compunction. He had determined to deliver Rideau to justice, and not planned to drown him, but if his enemy had preferred to take his own life rather than stand a trial, the responsibility did not rest upon his pursuer.

Dane strolled forward out on to the reeling forecastle, and found the swift passage of the ship through the moonlit water soothing. Ahead there was neither reef nor shoal. She forged on, hurling aside each sea which barred her way, straight toward a safe haven through open water. It seemed a happy augury, and presently Dane retired tranquilly to sleep again.

Early the next morning the mate and the skipper went ashore with him at a cluster of white-washed buildings, over the largest of which the tricolor floated, and were courteously received by a little elderly officer. His secretary took down the statements made by the captain and mate, and when these had been sworn to, he quoted from a book before him as he turned to Dane.

"It sounds like a romance, but we have proof that Monsieur speaks the truth," he said. "He will return to Petit Mahu with an official who will examine the traders and the Indigene. Until his report is considered, Monsieur will not leave this colony. In touching the gold, the signature of this contract is undoubtedly that of Victor Rideau, and under the terms of it his share is forfeit. Thus, subject to certain fees, Monsieur retains possession. In regard to the position of the river he decides to say nothing? It is not convenient that more white men lose their lives in that country of the devil, or cause the bad understanding with the Indigene. We have not yet open it for exploitation. Our information describes it as barren, and without value, which Monsieur will, I think, not contradict."

Dane had little trouble with the authorities. A commendable absence of useless formalities characterized all their dealings with him, and in a very brief space he was free to leave the colony. His men had been paid much more than they bargained for, and it was with genuine regret that he took leave of the last of them; it was with difficulty that he dissuaded Monday from accompanying him to England. The few Kroos remaining at Mahu when he left paddled him off to his steamer; and looking back from her deck, he could see Amadu's tall figure on the beach. Redmond and Gilby came on board, and, dining there, celebrated the parting so thoroughly that several seamen were needed to assist them into their boat, while how any of the party ran the gauntlet of the surf was more than Dane knew. They were not men of much refinement and had their weaknesses, black and white alike; but he owed a good deal to the sturdy heathen, while the two of paler color, instead of turning aside from a distressed compatriot, had shown themselves ready to assist him with a warm-hearted recklessness not always to be found among those possessing a higher degree of culture.

Dane had one task still before him; and it was a hot afternoon when he called for the last time at Dom Pedro's factory. It seemed almost strange that everything should remain as he had last seen it—the little olive-faced gentleman lounging, cigarette in hand, against the veranda balustrade, and Bonita and her sleepy aunt lying in deep chairs in the shadow. In spite of the heat and sickness in that land, life goes smoothly at an African factory run by men of Latin race.

Dane was puzzled by something in Bonita's manner as she rose to meet him. She showed little pleasure, but rather suppressed anxiety, and looked past him toward the beach as though expecting somebody. Even Dom Pedro seemed shaken out of his usual serenity, the seÑora's eyes were open wide, and there was a silence after the opening courtesies.

"It is with the great satisfaction we see you safe," said Dom Pedro, though satisfaction was not what his voice most clearly expressed. "But you bring us news? Two of you go up yonder, and there is a third who follow. One only he comes back."

Dane guessed that the speaker's anxiety chiefly concerned the third who followed, and the implied question was the least difficult to answer.

"I have news," he said. "The man who followed us was no friend of yours, seÑorita?"

Bonita Castro's lips curled scornfully.

"No. I have little cause to be a friend of him."

"He will harass you no longer. He is dead," said Dane.

There was no pity, but rather pride and a still strained anxiety in the girl's eyes.

"It is as I told you, padre. The dog has failed in his treachery and the SeÑor Maxwell has kill him."

"No. He was drowned at sea."

"It was not the SeÑor Maxwell who kill him? And the man with the cross on his forehead?"

"No," said Dane. "Rideau was drowned while trying to avoid me. The man with the cross on his forehead is also dead. He twice attempted my comrade's life, and I shot him one night when he was crawling toward my tent."

Bonita bent her head in a curious formal salutation.

"Our felicitations, Don Ilton. And the SeÑor Maxwell?"

Her voice grew a little deeper with the last question, and there was a note in it which puzzled Dane, while she cast a swift glance toward the second surf-boat lurching in shore from the anchored steamer. The man hesitated before he answered."He also is dead, seÑorita. He was treacherously murdered in the forest beyond the Leopards' country."

Amid all the memories Dane carried with him from Africa there were only two which equaled in vividness that of the few following moments. The girl stifled a half-articulate cry, and a heavy silence succeeded. Dom Pedro grasped the rails hard with genuine consternation in his face; and there was horror in the seÑora's expression. Bonita stood stiffly upright, with lips turned suddenly bloodless and a look that astonished Dane in her dilated eyes. Beyond that space of shadow there was dazzling sunlight, and to emphasize the stillness on the veranda the hot air vibrated with the roar of the sea. The girl appeared to choke for breath. Understanding suddenly, Dane turned his eyes away. It was the seÑora who spoke first.

"All dead. Reina de los angeles—ave!" she murmured.

Dane, looking round again, saw that Bonita was mistress of herself. It was all clear now, and he admired as well as pitied her. Passionate, vindictive, wayward as she was, the blow had stirred within her the pride of her race, and it was with a queenly air she turned toward him.

"The seÑor will pardon us if we give him pain, but he will tell us all. Of Rideau's treachery, and—how his comrade fell."

Dane fancied that he was the only one in the party who had guessed the girl's secret; and he might not have done so but that sympathy quickened his perceptions, for he also had loved Carsluith Maxwell. He felt that it might be well for Bonita Castro if she heard everything, and he roused himself to do his fallen comrade justice. Thus the dead man moved an heroic figure through all the kaleidoscopic happenings. The rest, black and brown, were lay figures, himself a puppet obeying the leader's will; and, when the narrative concluded, Dane felt that if others now knew his comrade as he had known him he was satisfied. Remembering what he had seen he could, he fancied, read by the light of it what was passing in Bonita Castro's mind. At times she listened with quivering lips, then a moisture gathered in her eyes, which nevertheless glittered with a curious pride, and he thought her superb when at last, with a glance only, she thanked the bringer of the news.

"He was all caballero, as you say, a very gallant gentleman. I will pray for the sound rest of him," she said.

Dom Pedro moved uneasily.

"He was a man without principle this Rideau. With excuses to the seÑor, I would my books examine, and try to figure of how much he rob me," he said, and hurried away.

Bonita followed, and Dane was left with her sleepy aunt who presently astonished him. The seÑora, it appeared, was a lady of much keener perceptions than he had imagined; and he understood why she told him what had happened during Rideau's last visit to the factory. It was evident that Dane owed his life in a measure to her niece. When she concluded, the lady lapsed into a somnolent silence, which, if assumed, was tactful, leaving the man, who was glad of a respite from conversational effort, to digest the information.

Dom Pedro had cargo for the steamer, and it was late when Dane said good-by to Bonita on the moonlit veranda. It may have been due to the silvery light, but she seemed to have changed, and Dane shrank a little from meeting her. Bonita, however, spoke very quietly.

"I have a confession to make," she said. "You have done much for my father, and it is right that I tell you."

"Please don't, seÑorita," Dane interposed; but the girl checked him.

"You lost the SeÑor Maxwell's map here, and I, who found it, sold it Rideau. It was the infamy, but the price was tempting—and I knew one of you would kill him. You will try to forget the injury?"

"I think I know why you did it, and I do not blame you," said Dane. "I shall most clearly remember that, when I was sick, you saved my life for me, as I think you did again when you helped my comrade to forestall Rideau."

Bonita smiled a little.

"You are generous, but I would have it so. Then we are, as you say, the equal. I have been able to help you. You give me my liberty. You sail now for England, Don Ilton?"

"Yes," said Dane; and again Bonita Castro astonished him.

"She loves you?" she asked simply.

The question was startling, and the man answered stupidly.

"I hope so. I—I do not know."

For a moment the swift laughter rose to the girl's eyes, but died in its birth, and the movement of her hands that followed it stirred the man's pity."You do not know? I saw the picture, and it was for her you went up into the Leopards' country. You are a strange people, Don Ilton—and the SeÑor Maxwell, he was like you?"

Dane afterward remained uncertain why he spoke as he did, but the words framed themselves, as it were, without his volition.

"No," he said; "nobody could compare me with Maxwell. Nor do I think I have met many such as he; but when he was dying, he spoke much of you. He told me you had promised to help us, and that he could trust you. It was almost his last charge that I should tell you so."

Dane knew by her swift grateful glance that Bonita Castro blessed him for the speech. In impulsive southern fashion, she held out both hands to him.

"Vaya con Dios, and the good saints send you happiness! I think we neither of us forget what has happened here, Don Ilton."

The last words ended in something like a sob, and Dane, who could think of no fitting words to say, only crushed the little hot hands in his own and swung his hat low as he turned away. Dom Pedro walked to the surf-boat with him, but Dane scarcely heard what he said, for his thoughts were centered on the girl, who stood, a pathetic figure, gazing after him from the moonlit veranda.

The Krooboys were slow to reach the steamer, but Dane was the better pleased, for he hardly felt equal to facing the questions or the badinage of her passengers just then.