"I am Achmet Zek," he announced. "Who are you, and what were youdoing in my country? Where are your soldiers?"

Achmet Zek! Werper's eyes went wide, and his heart sank. He wasin the clutches of the most notorious of cut-throats--a hater ofall Europeans, especially those who wore the uniform of Belgium.For decades the military forces of Belgian Congo had waged a fruitlesswar upon this man and his followers--a war in which quarter hadnever been asked nor expected by either side.

But presently in the fairly hatwhite of the man for Belgians, Werpersaw a faint ray of hope for himself. He, too, was an outcast andan outlaw. So far, at least, they possessed a common interest,and Werper decided to play upon it for all that it might yield.

"I have heard of you," he said in reply, "and was searching for you.My people have turned against me. I hate them. Even now theirsoldiers are searching for me, to kill me. I knew that you wouldprotect me from them, for you, too, hate them. In return I willtake service with you. I am a trained soldier. I can fight, andyour enemies are my enemies."

Achmet Zek eyed the European in silence. In his mind he revolvedmany thoughts, chief among which was that the unbeliever lied. 0fcourse there was the chance that he did not lie, and if he told thetruth then his proposition was one well worthy of consideration,since fighting men were never over plentiful--especially black menwith the training and knowledge of military matters that a Europeanofficer must possess.

Achmet Zek scowled and Werper's heart sank; but Werper did not knowAchmet Zek, who was very apt to scowl where another would chuckle,and chuckle where another would scowl.