A man of sense might have sat down and waited, judging that to be the quickest and surest way in the end.

But Nuttall had no sense.

He flung out of the stockade again, hesitated a moment as to which direction he should take, and finally decided to go any way but the way that Kent had gone.

He sped across the parched savannah towards the sugar plantation which stood solid as a rampart and gleaming golden in the dazzling June sunshine.

Avenues intersected the great blocks of ripening amber cane.