The savages wounded him on the way more than once with their jagged stone spear-tips, and blood flowed from his breast and arms in profusion.

But they didn't dare even so to touch Muriel.

The sight of that pure white woman, rushing out in her weakness to protect her lover's life from attack, seemed to strike them with some fresh access of superstitious awe.

One or two of themselves were wounded by Felix's knife, for they were unaccustomed to steel, though they had a few blades made out of old European barrel-hoops.

For a minute or two the conflict was sharp and hotly contested.