She saw pale faces staring at
her; she saw on the rusty truckle-bed a figure which rose up and held
out frantic, desperate arms toward her. But it was no dream--no
phantom. Mrs. Cary, wild-eyed and distraught, struggled to rise to her
feet and come toward her.
"Where is Beatrice?" she cried hysterically. "Where is Beatrice? I
dreamed she was dead!--It isn't true! Say it isn't true!"
Lois hurried back. In the confusion of their retreat she had lost
sight of Beatrice, and now a cold fear froze her blood. She called her
name, adding her voice to the half-delirious mother's appeal; but
there was no answer, and as she prepared to leave the shelter of the
bungalow to go in search of the lost girl, a pair of strong hands
grasped her by the shoulders and forced her back.
"Lois, stand back! They are coming!"
Colonel Carmichael thrust her behind him, and an instant later she
heard the report of his revolver. There was no answering volley. A
dark, scantily-clad figure sprang through the trees, waving one hand
as though in imperative appeal.
"Don't fire--don't fire! It's me!"
The Colonel's still smoking revolver sank, and the supposed native
swayed toward him, only to sink a few yards farther on to the ground.
Carmichael ran to his side and lifted the fainting head against his
shoulder.
"Good God, Geoffries! Don't say I've hit you! How on earth was I to
know!"
"That's all right, Colonel.
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