“Of course they expect it,” shouted Joseph in his face; “of course they expect it, Mr. Durnovo.” “Why?” “Because they're SLAVES. Think I don't know that?” He turned to Oscard. “This man, Mr. Oscard,” he said, “is a slave-owner. Them forty that joined at Msala was slaves. He's shot two of 'em now; this is his second. And what does he care?--they're his slaves. Oh! shame on yer!” turning again to Durnovo; “I wonder God lets yer stand there. I can only think that He doesn't want to dirty His hand by strikin' yer down.” Oscard had taken his pipe from his lips. He looked bigger, somehow, than ever. His brown face was turning to an ashen colour, and there was a dull, steel-like gleam in his blue eyes. The terrible, slow-kindling anger of this Northerner made Durnovo catch his breath. It was so different from the sudden passion of his own countrymen. “Is this true?” he asked. “It's a lie, of course,” answered Durnovo, with a shrug of the shoulders. He moved away as if he were going to his tent, but Oscard's arm reached out. His large brown hand fell heavily on the half-breed's shoulder. “Stay,” he said; “we are going to get to the bottom of this.” “Good,” muttered Joseph, rubbing his hands slowly together; “this is prime.” “Go on,” said Oscard to him. “Where's the wages you and Mr. Meredith has paid him for those forty men?” pursued Joseph. “Where's the advance you made him for those men at Msala? Not one ha'penny of it have they fingered. And why? Cos they're slaves! Fifteen months at fifty pounds--let them as can reckon tot it up for theirselves. That's his first swindle--and there's others, sir! Oh, there's more behind. That man's just a stinkin' hotbed o' crime. But this 'ere slave-owning is enough to settle his hash, I take it.” “Let us have these men here--we will hear what they have to say,” said Oscard in the same dull tone that frightened Victor Durnovo. “Not you!” he went on, laying his hand on Durnovo's shoulder again; “Joseph will fetch them, thank you.” So the forty--or the thirty-seven survivors, for one had died on the journey up and two had been murdered--were brought. They were peaceful, timorous men, whose manhood seemed to have been crushed out of them; and slowly, word by word, their grim story was got out of them. Joseph knew a little of their language, and one of the head fighting men knew a little more, and spoke a dialect known to Oscard. They were slaves they said at once, but only on Oscard's promise that Durnovo should not be allowed to shoot them. They had been brought from the north by a victorious chief, who in turn had handed them over to Victor Durnovo in payment of an outstanding debt for ammunition supplied. The great African moon rose into the heavens and shone her yellow light upon this group of men. Overhead all was peace: on earth there was no peace. And yet it was one of Heaven's laws that Victor Durnovo had broken.