the smiling Portuguese.

"I just have to trouble you for that map I saw you put in your
pocket, that is all," went on his captor, while the two huge negroes
who had made Frank prisoner stood to one side immovable as carved
figures,

"It is lucky for me that you came down to the river bank," grinned
the Portuguese as he ran his hand over Frank's clothes, to ascertain
the hiding-place of the precious map of the ivory cache, "otherwise
I should have had to delay my departure till to-night, and possibly
have cut your throat while you slept."

Frank felt as if his heart would burst with rage and mortification
as the greasy, smiling Portuguese deliberately drew out the
priceless document and gazed at it in triumph. He laid it on the
ground beside him while lie resumed his search for other clues.

"That ivory belongs to my master--Muley-Hassan--now," he sneered;
"did you think for a minute that we would ever let you white fools
get it back again."

It was well for the Portuguese that Frank's hands were not free
then. Had they been the dark-skinned traitor would have had a fight
on his hands in a few seconds. But suddenly events took a strange
turn.

The two blacks uttered a sharp cry of warning as the bushes parted
and a huge form dashed out, whirling about its head a glistening
axe.