“I'm done, Trent,” he gasped faintly. “Fight your way on alone. You've a chance yet. The way's getting a bit easier--I fancy we're on the right track and we've given those black devils the slip! Nurse your strength! You've a chance! Let me be. It's no use carrying a dead man.” Gaunt and wild, with the cold fear of death before him also, the younger man broke out into a fit of cursing. “May they rot in the blackest corner of hell, Oom Sam and those miserable vermin!” he shouted. “A path all the way, the fever season over, the swamps dry! Oh! when I think of Sam's smooth jargon I would give my chance of life, such as it is, to have him here for one moment. To think that beast must live and we die!” “Prop me up against this tree, Trent--and listen,” Monty whispered. “Don't fritter away the little strength you have left.” Trent did as he was told. He had no particular affection for his partner and the prospect of his death scarcely troubled him. Yet for twenty miles and more, through fetid swamps and poisoned jungles, he had carried him over his shoulder, fighting fiercely for the lives of both of them, while there remained any chance whatever of escape. Now he knew that it was in vain, he regretted only his wasted efforts--he had no sentimental regrets in leaving him. It was his own life he wanted--his own life he meant to fight for. “I wouldn't swear at Oom Sam too hard,” Monty continued. “Remember for the last two days he was doing all he could to get us out of the place. It was those fetish fellows who worked the mischief and he--certainly--warned us all he could. He took us safely to Bekwando and he worked the oracle with the King!” “Yes, and afterwards sneaked off with Francis,” Trent broke in bitterly, “and took every bearer with him--after we'd paid them for the return journey too. Sent us out here to be trapped and butchered like rats. If we'd only had a guide we should have been at Buckomari by now.” “He was right about the gold,” Monty faltered. “It's there for the picking up. If only we could have got back we were rich for life. If you escape--you need never do another stroke of work as long as you live.” Trent stood upright, wiped the dank sweat from his forehead and gazed around him fiercely, and upwards at that lurid little patch of blue sky. “If I escape!” he muttered. “I'll get out of this if I die walking. I'm sorry you're done, Monty,” he continued slowly. “Say the word and I'll have one more spell at carrying you! You're not a heavy weight and I'm rested now!” But Monty, in whose veins was the chill of death and who sought only for rest, shook his head. “It shakes me too much,” he said, “and it's only a waste of strength. You get on, Trent, and don't you bother about me. You've done your duty by your partner and a bit more. You might leave me the small revolver in case those howling savages come up--and Trent!” “Yes--” “The picture--just for a moment. I'd like to have one look at her!”