Iris, slim and boyish in her male garments, was dwarfed by the six-foot sailor, but her face was blood-stained, and Jenks wore a six weeks' stubble of beard.

Holding their Lee-Metfords with alert ease, with revolvers strapped to their sides, they presented a warlike and imposing tableau in their inaccessible perch.

In the path of the emissaries lay the bodies of the slain.

The Dyak leader scowled again as he passed them.
"Sahib," began the Indian, "my chief, Taung S'Ali, does not wish to have any more of his men killed in a foolish quarrel about a woman.
Give her up, he says, and he will either leave you here in peace, or carry you safely to some place where you can find a ship manned by white men." "A woman!" said Jenks, scornfully.

"That is idle talk! What woman is here ?" This question nonplussed the native.
"The woman whom the chief saw half a month back, sahib." "Taung S'Ali was bewitched.