kicked, but the wrist loop of his sjambok held him 

 prisoner and he could do nothing. 



That was the moment when a panic-stricken boy 

 plucked up courage enough to call me ; and that was 

 the scene we saw as we ran out of the little shop. Jim 

 would not strike the white man : but his face was a 

 muddy grey, and it was written there that he would 

 rather die than give up the dog. 



Before I reached them it was clear to us all what 

 had happened ; Jim was protesting to Seedling and 

 at the same time calling to me ; it was a jumble, but 

 a jumble eloquent enough for us, and all intelligible. 

 Jim's excited gabble was addressed with reckless in- 

 coherence to Seedling, to me, and to Jock ! 



" You threw him in ; you tried to kill him. He 

 did it. It was not the dog. Kill him, Jock, kill him. 

 Leave him, let him fight. You said it Let him fight ! 

 Kill him, Jock ! Kill! Kill! Kill!" 



Then Seedling did the worst thing possible ; he 

 turned on me with, 



" Call off your dog, I tell you, or I'll shoot him 

 and your n igg er too ! " 



" We'll see about that ! They can fight it out 

 now," and I took the sjambok from Jim's hand and 

 cut it from the white man's wrist. 

 " Now ! Stand back ! " 

 And he stood back. 

 The baboon was quite helpless. Powerful as the 



brute was, and formidable as were the arms and 



gripping feet, it had no chance while Jock could keep 



his feet and had strength to drag and hold the chain 



400 



