"No."
Naomi came forward. "Philip, I forbid you to kill." She placed herself suddenly between him and Lady Millicent, but the Englishwoman pushed her aside.
"This is no time for rot!" She gave such a snort that it seemed to him sparks must fly from her nostrils. "I can't defend all of you . . . with two able-bodied, strong men."
"We're missionaries," said Philip. "We didn't come to kill the poor heathen but to save."
"Well, I mean to kill as many as possible."
Suddenly there was the cannon-like report of an old-fashioned musket, and a bullet sang past them, embedding itself in the thatch of Swanson's hut. Philip saw Lady Millicent thrusting a rifle on Swanson to guard the wily Arab—Swanson who couldn't bear to kill a rat. There was another report and the slow whistle of a bullet. Then he found himself suddenly on the forest side of the stockade, beside the Englishwoman. There was a rifle in his hands and he heard her saying, "Don't fire till they get clear of the forest—then they'll have no shelter."
She was crouching behind the barricade like an elderly leopard, peering toward the forest. The bathtub lay where she had tossed it aside. Through a gap in the wall he saw seven black men, hideously painted and decorated with feathers, running toward them. He raised the rifle and some one seized his arm. It was Naomi, screaming, "Don't! Don't! Thou shalt not kill!"
He heard the hoarse voice of Lady Millicent calling out, "If you want to live, fire! Fire now!"
He struck Naomi savagely, pushing her into the
