d the green
roll of the bush. The lowing of cattle and the bleating of sheep and
goats are harmoniously mingled on the still and balmy air; and over and
above this comes the rumble of the waggons and the occasional crack of a
whip. A little duiker-buck springs from his form, to stand a moment,
his soft eye dilating, the black tips of his tiny, horns pricked up as
he listens, then darts away noiselessly into the scrub. Bright-plumaged
birds flash screaming from the path as the unwonted tumult draws near,
for not often are they alarmed in this wise, here in their bosky
solitudes.

First come a number of cattle, the vari-coloured hides dappling the
prevailing green and brown of the _veldt_; a mixed lot too, for among
the small but compact Zulu breed, towering in elephantine proportions
above them, is here and there the buffalo-like frame of a Boer trek-ox
with its strongly pronounced hump and great branching horns. Cows with
their calves, too, are there, and an occasional thrust and clash of
horns and angry low betoken the collision of two or more quarrelsome
beasts, whom the herd's kerries, however, avail to pacify even if his
voice suffices not. These travel leisurely, feeding as they go, and are
in excellent condition. Some little way behind comes a flock of sheep
and goats, also feeding as they go, and propelled by as travel-stained
and dusty-looking a native as the one who herds the cattle aforesaid.
The rear is brought up by two waggons, one behind the other, each drawn
by a full span of sixteen oxen. The native driver of each, walking
alongside, wields his whip languidly and lazily, and the leader is so
tired that he can hardly put one foot before the other, for the day has
been a sweltering hot one. Even the two horses fastened behind the last
waggon have no elasticity in their step, as with drooping head they plod
mechanically on, and the dust hangs in a cloud above the line of march.

Seated in front of the foremost waggon, smoking their pipes, are two
white men, also travel-stained and dusty. In one of them we have no
difficulty in recognising the weather-tanned lineaments and impassive
expression of John Dawes. The other countenance--well, we might have
some difficulty in recognising the owner, might excusably hesitate
before pronouncing it to be that of our friend, Gerard Ridgeley. Yet he
it is.

For those few months of healthy open-air life have done wonders for
Gerard--have wrought a greater ch