A Kru boy, who called out with fright, was felled to the ground by Trent with a blow which would have staggered an ox.

With their rifles in hand, and every man stretched flat upon the ground, Trent's little party lay waiting.

Barely a hundred yards separated them, yet there was no sign of life from the camp.

The long line of savages advanced a few steps more, their spears poised above their heads, their half-naked forms showing more distinctly as they peered forward through the grey gloom, savage and ferocious.

The white men were surely sleeping still.