nd the prospect
of excitement ahead had done that for him. But he could not banish the
recollection of that bright, sweet personality from his mind, nor had he
any wish to. When he had done with his experiences he would find out
Hazel Brandon in her own home, and would speak out boldly and in no
uncertain manner. Meanwhile, advised by common-sense and Harley
Greenoak, he decided to make the best of things at present, and to let
the future take care of itself.

As they topped a rise the wayside inn and canteen came into view just
beneath. Before the latter squatted or lounged in groups quite a number
of red-blanketed figures, and the deep bass hum of their voices, and an
occasional laugh, rose not unmelodiously upon the still air.

"Well, MacFennel, and how's trade?" said Greenoak, shaking hands with
the innkeeper, who had come out to meet them.

"Oh, so so. What's the latest thing in scares?"

"You ought to know that better than me. You're nearest the spot."

"All the more reason why I shouldn't. More than half these scares are
cooked up down in the Colony. We don't hear much of 'em up here."

"That won't be good news for my young friend there"--with a nod in the
direction of Dick Selmes, who had strolled away to inspect nearer the
groups of Kafirs by the canteen. "He's just spoiling for war."

"Haw--haw!" guffawed the other. "But who is he?"

Greenoak told him, and just then Dick returned.

"Faugh!" he exclaimed. "Those chaps _are_ a bit `strong' when you get
too near them."

"Yes, stale grease and red clay don't make a fragrant combination,"
laughed Harley Greenoak. "I hope you can get us some dinner directly,
MacFennel; for I can tell you we both feel like it."

"Yes, it's ready now. Come on in. Bring the shooters inside. It isn't
safe to leave them in the cart with all these loafers about."

The while they had been outspanning, and now, handing over the horses to
a native stable-boy, they entered.

"I say, what about the war?" said Dick to the hotel-keeper, as the
latter came in to see how they were getting on. "Think there'll be
one?"

"Well, Mr Selmes, I don't know what to say. But one can only hope
not."

Dick dropped his knife and fork, and stared.

"Hope not?" he echoed. "But think what a lot of fun we shall be done
out of."

The hotel-keeper laughed good-naturedly.

"Fun?" he said. "Well, it may be fun to you, but it'll be death to some
of us, as some fable-mongering f