“And what does it feel like?” inquired Jack Meredith, lightly arranging his watch-chain. But Joseph did not answer. He stepped backwards into the tent and brought two rifles. There was no need of answer; for this came in the sound of many voices, the clang and clatter of varied arms. “Here they come, sir,” said the soldier-servant--respectful, mindful of his place even at this moment. Jack Meredith merely sat down behind the little table where his breakfast stood untouched. He leant his elbow on the table and watched the approach of the disorderly band of blacks. Some ran, some hung back, but all were armed. In front walked a small, truculent-looking man with broad shoulders and an aggressive head. He planted himself before Meredith, and turning, with a wave of the hand, to indicate his followers, said in English: “These men--these friends of me--say they are tired of you. You no good leader. They make me their leader.” He shrugged his shoulders with a hideous grin of deprecation. “I not want. They make me. We go to join our friends in the valley.” He pointed down into the valley where the enemy was encamped. “We have agreed to take two hundred pounds for you. Price given by our friends in valley--” The man stopped suddenly. He was looking into the muzzle of a revolver with a fixed fascination. Jack Meredith exhibited no haste. He did not seem yet to have realised the gravity of the situation. He took very careful aim and pulled the trigger. A little puff of white smoke floated over their heads. The broad-shouldered man with the aggressive head looked stupidly surprised. He turned towards his supporters with a pained look of inquiry, as if there was something he did not quite understand, and then he fell on his face and lay quite still. Jack Meredith looked on the blank faces with a glance of urbane inquiry. “Has anybody else anything to say to me?” he asked. There was a dead silence. Some one laughed rather feebly in the background. “Then I think I will go on with my breakfast.” Which he accordingly proceeded to do. One or two of the mutineers dropped away and went back to their own quarters. “Take it away,” said Meredith, indicating the body of the dead man with his teaspoon. “And look here,” he cried out after them, “do not let us have any more of this nonsense! It will only lead to unpleasantness.” Some of the men grinned. They were not particularly respectful in their manner of bearing away the mortal remains of their late leader. The feeling had already turned. Joseph thought fit to clench matters later on in the day by a few remarks of his own.