rm, and among all these tall tree-trunks too.
If only he could reach some native kraal.

But, then, he had heard that the natives were restless, and that it was
not altogether safe for one man alone to go among many. He was well
armed, certainly, but what is one among many? He had sufficient food
for one meal, and a flask. By way of putting a more cheerful light on
the situation he took a pull at the latter.

"A beastly place to camp in," he said to himself, looking around.
"Faugh! It simply reeks of fever. If only one could find somewhere
more open."

Now the lightning began to gleam vividly down through the tree-tops, and
the thunder crashed in short, angry barks; but no rain had fallen as
yet. It was one of those most dangerous storms of all--a _dry_ storm.
Suddenly a big yellowwood, barely thirty yards off, burst into splinters
and sparks as a wreath of flame ran down it into the ground. The
thunder-crash that accompanied was awful. The wayfarer's steed started
violently and backed, nearly throwing its rider, then stood stock still,
trembling and snorting.

"Oh, blazes, that's nasty!" growled the latter. "Well, I suppose if one
has to go under one has, but I'd rather not just at present. Hullo!
what's that?"

Far a sound had reached him from in front--a sound uncommonly like the
barking of dogs. The horse had heard it too, for it pricked up its ears
and snuffed the air. By now it was going dead lame.

A few big drops came pattering through the trees, then ceased. The
thunder-rolls grew less frequent and less loud. The storm was passing
over.

Now the barking of dogs sounded nearer and nearer. Instinctively the
wayfarer looked to the cartridges in his revolver, then, replacing the
weapon, continued to advance, yet very much on the look-out.

The forest ended abruptly. In front, on a bare ridge or spur, running
down from a great height, lay a small kraal, numbering four huts,
enclosed within a circular thorn stockade. Beyond it again lay an
unbroken mass of forest.

The appearance of the wayfarer in the open was the signal for a rush of
dogs from the kraal gate. These were not of the ordinary native
greyhound breed, but massive bullet-headed brutes of the Boer mastiff
type, and as formidable as wolves. There were three of them, and their
savage charge and deep-mouthed baying caused the horseman instinctively
to grasp the butt of his revolver. He had no fancy for being pulled
from his sa