ing on the
part of the one, or the alarmed uneasiness on that of the other. It
looked as if matters would settle themselves.

Sometimes two or three headmen from the surrounding kraals would come
into the camp and have a talk with the Police officers; and although
Vunisa did not make one of them, his people, too, seemed less restless,
and no more was the stillness of night broken by the stamp and roar of
war-dancing in his location. The green, rolling plains slept peaceful
in the radiant sunlight of each unclouded day, and at night a
beacon-like flare upon a far-away height might be a grass fire or a less
harmless signal.

"What do you think of this as a new thing in blowpipes, Greenoak?" said
Sub-Inspector Mainwaring, one day, coming out of his tent with an
unusual-looking weapon in his hand--unusual there and then, at any rate.

Greenoak took it.

"One of these Winchesters. Yes, I've seen them," he said, returning it.
"New-fangled American invention. Well, I don't think much of them."

"Why not?" said the other, who was rather proud of his new acquisition.
"I've always held that what we want is some sort of repeating rifle.
Sort of thing, you know, that can pump in a lot of shots one after
another."

"That's all right, if the `lot of shots' hit," said Greenoak. "If not,
one shot at a time's sufficient."

"Well, look at that sardine tin over there"--pointing to one on the
ground about seventy yards away, and bringing up the piece.

One shot, and the tin moved; another, and it leapt off the ground;
another--a clean miss; likewise a fourth.

"You have a try now," said the owner of the weapon, handing it back to
Greenoak.

Up went the piece. One, two, three, four--Greenoak had hit but once.
Something of a murmur stirred the group of men who had stopped to look.

"By Jove, old chap, you must be a bit off colour to-day," cried Dick
Selmes. Harley Greenoak to miss--to miss anything--however small and at
whatever distance, why, that _was_ an eye-opener to him, and,
incidentally, to more than one other. Harley Greenoak--to have "his eye
wiped," and by a young Police sub-inspector! Why, it was marvellous.

"A bad workman finds fault with _his_ tools," said Greenoak, musingly,
as he eyed the weapon, and balanced it critically. "Well, I may be a
bad workman, but this is a tool I'm not used to. Wait a second while I
get my .500 Express."

He went into his tent. Several empty sardine tins were lying abou