A good deal of discussion took place afterward as to what would have been the proper procedure under the circumstances, but that may conveniently be omitted from this record, which deals only with immediate history; and the fact is that Carter rushed the sentry, clipped him under the ear, skinned his own knuckles, and captured the gun. White-Man's-Trouble in the meanwhile had with much presence of mind thrown himself on his face to avoid any discharge of pot-leg from the concealed marksmen, and was bawling lustily for "Slade, oh Slade," to "Stop dem dam gun-palaver." Which noisy request presently had its wished for result. Slade himself came out to meet them, and even then his reception was sufficiently startling. "Good God!" he rapped out, "then you've escaped, too, Carter, as well as the Krooboy. What liars these niggers are! I imagined that your--that parts of you were up at Okky City by now. I supposed they've scuppered poor old Swizzle-Stick Smith all right, though? Did he have a bad time of it? Why?" he said as he came nearer, and saw his caller's spruce getup, "you don't look as if you'd been scrapping much. Or bolting very hard, either," he added as an afterthought. "Unless," said Carter, "you're referring to an invasion by the Turks, or the French, or the Men in the Moon, I haven't a notion what you're talking about." "Haven't you come from Malla-Nulla?" "Left there about a quarter to four." "And hasn't it been sacked?" "It was sitting down by the beach, looking just as white hot as usual, and no more, when I left." "What about the King of Okky, then?" "He was there at Malla-Nulla, filling a very big chair on the veranda." "And there has been no raid? I don't understand." "The King of Okky," said Carter patiently, "has raided our factory to the extent of one case of fizz, of which Mr. Smith says he drank half, but barring that, and about six gallons of other mixed drinks, I didn't see him get much out of us. He certainly was threatening to stop the roads when I left, but I think that was all gas. He only wanted to stick Mr. Smith for more drinks." "He's stopped the roads right enough." "Not he," said Carter cheerfully. The older man thought a minute and then, "Come along with me," he said. "I guess ocular demonstration is about the only thing that will convince you that there is mischief in the air, and that that crafty old devil of a king is at the bottom of it." He led to a factory outbuilding, threw open a door, and scraped a match. "Look in there." Carter did so, and promptly felt sick, and came out. But he got another light and returned resolutely to the inspection. "Two, four, seven. And all killed the same way. I say that's pretty ghastly."