Here he was now an outcast, an Ishmaelite, with every man's hand raised against him. It was not the first time. For this quiet-going man had unobtrusively learnt many tongues, and, while no one heeded him, he had studied the ways of this Eastern land with no mean success.
He waited there during an hour while the firing still continued, and then, when at last silence reigned again and the wind whispered undisturbed through the dark pines, he turned his wandering footsteps northward to a land where few white men have passed.
So night fell upon these two men thus hazardously brought together, and every moment stretched longer the distance between them--James Agar going north, Seymour Michael passing southward.
Agar wondered vaguely whether his toilsome diary would ever reach home, but he w
