Then I shoot you fella dead, good-bye, all finish you." And Sheldon knew that when he had counted three he would drop him in his tracks.

The black knew it, too.

That was why Sheldon did not have to do it, for when he had counted one, Astoa reached out his hand and took the whip.

And right well Astoa laid on the whip, angered at his fellows for not supporting him and venting his anger with every stroke.

From the veranda Sheldon egged him on to strike with strength, till the two triced savages screamed and howled while the blood oozed down their backs.