XII 
THE RAID 
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only by the low murmurous lap-lap of the lake, 
now sinking to rest after a tumultuous and stormy 
day. Inside the village huts, the native families 
are contentedly sleeping, one of the members 
waking now and then to replenish the family 
fire, which is seldom allowed to die out, while all 
are blissfully unconscious that danger is at hand, 
or that the shadow of death, swift and brutal, 
is drawing nearer and nearer—such is, at times, 
the sublime cruelty of Fate ! Outside, under cover 
of impenetrable night, silent sinister shapes move 
stealthily about and finally take up their positions 
in ones or twos at the door of every hut—these 
are the raiders, prepared and eager for their foul 
work. For a space, all is intensely still, and then, 
in the vicinity of the headmans house, there 
suddenly appears, in vivid contrast with the intense 
darkness, a mysterious, glowing red spot, which 
just as suddenly vanishes. A raider has carried 
a smouldering stick from the last camp fire and 
thrust it deep into the dry, inflammable thatch 
of the roof. In a few moments, the smouldering- 
grass is blown into little, licking flames which, 
caught by a gusty breeze, leap into long, shooting 
tongues of fire, which, hissing and crackling, illu¬ 
minate the surrounding huts and forest in a 
ghostly glare. The roar of the conflagration soon 
wakens the occupants of the blazing hut, and 
