The water
gurgled away down a narrow channel, and fell into darkness. With
infinite caution he crept forward to peer round the jutting boulder that
divided him from his enemies.
The next instant sharply he drew back. A man armed with a long, native
spear was standing in the entrance.
He was still a prisoner, then; that much was certain. But his guard was
single-handed. He began to consider the possibility of overpowering him.
He had no weapon, but he was a practised wrestler; and they were so far
removed from the yelling crowd about the fire that a scuffle in that
dark corner was little likely to attract attention.
It was fairly obvious to him why he had been rescued from the fire.
Doubtless his gigantic struggles had been observed by the onlooker, and
he was considered too good a man to burn. They would keep him for a
slave, possibly mutilate him first.
Again, stealthily, he investigated the position round that corner of
rock. The man's back was turned towards him. He seemed to be watching
the doings of the distant tribesmen. Herne freed himself from his ragged
garment, and crept nearer. His enemy was of no great stature. In fact,
he was the smallest Wandi that he had yet seen.
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