None but those who have been placed in a similar position can fully appreciate the temptation to which he was put, the huge desire which took hold of him to rise to his feet and run. Dick felt as the man does who is in full view of the rifles of unscrupulous marauders, without cover for many yards, uncertain whether to expect a hail of bullets or not. A sense of dignity, the feeling that it would not be courageous to run, holds one steady; but the temptation is there. There is a queer little feeling in the small of the back, and if one does not run, and conquers the temptation to act as a craven, one longs to look round, to make sure that no violence is about to be attempted. That was how our hero felt, and who will blame him? He was so near a refuge and friends now, and seemed clear of the enemy. It would be so easy to run. However, he stuck to his motto, and, still remaining on his knees, slowly crept closer to the stockade.
Hist! Something caught his ear, and he sat down to listen for some minutes till he felt sure that he was mistaken. Then he crawled on again, till of a sudden he swung round, and, with a cry of dismay, leaped to his feet. There was a man following him, a figure bent almost double, silently coming up with him. Had he but known, it was the identical sentry whose signal he had answered and who, still suspicious, had returned on his tracks. He was within three yards when Dick saw him, and the cry had hardly left his lips when the man was upon him.
With all the ferocity of a tiger he leaped at his enemy, native sword in hand, and as the fingers on his left hand closed on Dick’s shoulder, the murderous weapon swooped upwards in a stroke meant to transfix his body. But again the white man had good fortune. His guardian angel seemed to be on the watch that night, for the point caught the sling of his rifle, and turning aside the whole blade flashed beneath his arm till the hand which held it came with a thud against his side.
“Dog!” shouted the man, thinking he had accomplished his purpose.
Dick made no answer. He knew that if he did not hold that arm which gripped the sword he was as good as dead, and quick as lightning he took the only step to retain it. As the blade flew beneath his arm, and the man’s hand crashed against his side, he brought his own arm down, jamming the native’s hand there. Then he shook his hand from his shoulder, and lifting his own blade, plunged it with all his force into his enemy’s breast.
Hardly had the man fallen at his feet, when a series of shouts rang out, rifles blazed from the stockade, and ere he could move half a dozen natives were upon him. For Dick had made one miscalculation. He had forgotten that he was dealing with men who were from their youth trained as warriors, men accustomed to the trail, to forest warfare, and to every form of artifice. He had not recollected that these Ashanti fighters had the acutest hearing and phenomenal sight, and he, a mere white man, accustomed to city life, had imagined that he could creep through them. Bitterly was he mistaken, for one had first suspected the presence of an enemy and had then followed, while a comrade, discovering the fact in some subtle manner, had come on his tracks, five others following. Gradually they had gained on the chase, so that when Dick struck their leader down the rest were almost on him. Again there was a shout, taken up by a score of voices around the clearing, and in a second a fierce hand-to-hand contest had commenced.
“The white man! The white man! Take him alive! Do not kill him!”
It was James Langdon’s voice, coming from close at hand, for the news that some one was astir had been sent to him and he had followed.
“I give you all warning. Do not slay him, if you value my friendship.”