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 the sheltering curtain that gave privacy to the women.

Guided by the traitor, their movements hidden in Cimmerian darkness, the little party made its way in safety to the friendly shelter of the Shabandar’s stockade. Hewas expecting them, and he had also prepared an unpleasant surprise for the cuckoos in temporary occupation of their stolen nest.

Pénglima Prang Sémaun and his friends were awakened from sleep by the banging of jingals and muskets and a hail of various missiles.

A moment’s search showed that the prisoners had escaped, and the Pénglima instantly realised that he was in the toils.

He had already shown that he was a man of resource, and his presence of mind did not desert him in this dangerous crisis. The darkness alone protected them, and that would not last; moreover, he could not tell at what moment his position might not be rushed, It was clear that for them was reserved the fate of those who when they got up in the morning were all dead men.

The Pénglima called his followers together, explained the situation and its urgency, pointed out the choice that lay before them—an attempt to pass the enemy’s stockades under cover of the night or to