The slave had fallen on top of his master; one leg lay swathed and twisted; one black hand had but partially relaxed upon the haft of a knife (the knife) that stood up hilt-deep in a blacker heart.

And in the hand of Santos was still the revolver (my Deane and Adams) which had sent its last ball through the nigger's body.
"They slipped out behind us, all but the one inside," said Royds, ruefully; "I'm hanged if I know yet how it happened--but we were on them next second.

Before that the nigger had made us hide him in the grass, but the old devil ran straight into him, and the one fired as the other struck.

It's the worst bit of luck in the whole business, and I'm rather disappointed on the whole.

I've been nursing the job all this week; had my last look round this very evening, with one of these officers, and only rode back for more to make sure of taking our gentlemen alive.