Then Malbihn guessed who the white man must
be, though he could scarce believe his own reasoning. It seemed
beyond the pale of wildest conjecture to suppose that the Hon.
Morison Baynes had followed him through the jungle with but a single
companion--and yet it was true. Beneath the dirt and dishevelment
he recognized him at last, and in the necessity of admitting that
it was he, Malbihn was forced to recognize the incentive that had
driven Baynes, the weakling and coward, through the savage jungle
upon his trail.
The man had come to demand an accounting and to avenge. It seemed
incredible, and yet there could be no other explanation. Malbihn
shrugged. Well, others had sought Malbihn for similar reasons in
the course of a long and checkered career. He fingered his rifle,
and waited.
Now the canoe was within easy speaking distance of the shore.
"What do you want?" yelled Malbihn, raising his weapon threateningly.
The Hon. Morison Baynes leaped to his feet.
"You, damn you!" he shouted, whipping out his revolver and firing
almost simultaneously with the Swede.
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