path.

"Baboons!" said Renshaw. "They must be all round our water-hole. There
they are. No--on no account fire."

The poort here widened out. Grassy slopes arose to the base of the
cliffs. In the centre lay a rocky pool, whose placid surface glittered
mirror-like in the gloaming. But between this and the horsemen was a
crowd of dark, uncouth shapes. Again that loud warning bark sounded
forth--this time overhead, but so near that it struck upon the human ear
as almost menacing.

"Baboons, eh?" said Sellon, catching sight of the brutes. "I'm going to
charge them."

Renshaw smiled quietly to himself.

"Charge away," he said. "But whatever you do, don't fire a shot. It
may bring down upon us a very different sort of obstructive than a
_clompje_ of _baviaans_, and then this undertaking is one more added to
the list of failures, even if we get out with whole skins."

But Maurice hardly heard him to the end, as, spurring up his horse, he
dashed straight at the troop of baboons. The latter, for their kind,
were abnormally large. There might have been about threescore of the
great ungainly brutes, squatting around on the rocks which overhung the
pool.

As the horseman galloped up they could be seen baring their great tusks,
grinning angrily. But they did not move.

Sellon had not bargained for this. The great apes, squatted together,
showing an unmoved front to the aggressor, looked sufficiently
formidable, not to say threatening. Sellon's pace slowed down to a walk
before he got within sixty yards of them. Then he halted and sat
staring irresolutely at the hideous beasts. Still they showed no sort
of disposition to give way. For a few moments both parties stood thus
eyeing each other.

All of a sudden, led by about a dozen of the largest, the whole troop of
hairy monsters came shambling forward--gibbering and gnashing their
great tusks in unpleasantly suggestive fashion. A second more, and
Sellon would have turned tail and fled ignominiously, when--

Whizz! Whack-whack! whack! A perfect shower of sharp stones came
pelting into the thick of the ugly crowd with the swiftness and accuracy
of a Winchester rifle, knocking out eyes, battering hairy limbs, playing
havoc among them, like a charge of grape-shot. With yells of pain and
terror, the brutes turned and fled, scampering up the rocks in all
directions.

Renshaw, guessing the turn events were likely to take, had quietly
dismounted, and, fil