d the stranger, lifting
himself up; "and the lions go down to the streams to drink."

"Ah--yes--" said Peter; "but that's because we can't help it!"

They were silent again for a little while. Then Peter, seeing that the
stranger showed no inclination to speak, said, "Did you hear of the
spree they had up Bulawayo way, hanging those three niggers for spies? I
wasn't there myself, but a fellow who was told me they made the niggers
jump down from the tree and hang themselves; one fellow wouldn't bally
jump, till they gave him a charge of buckshot in the back: and then he
caught hold of a branch with his hands and they had to shoot 'em loose.
He didn't like hanging. I don't know if it's true, of course; I wasn't
there myself, but a fellow who was told me. Another fellow who was at
Bulawayo, but who wasn't there when they were hung, said they fired at
them just after they jumped, to kill 'em. I--"

"I was there," said the stranger.

"Oh, you were?" said Peter. "I saw a photograph of the niggers hanging,
and our fellows standing round smoking; but I didn't see you in it. I
suppose you'd just gone away?"

"I was beside the men when they were hung," said the stranger.

"Oh, you were, were you?" said Peter. "I don't much care about seeing
that sort of thing myself. Some fellows think it's the best fun out to
see the niggers kick; but I can't stand it: it turns my stomach. It's
not liver-heartedness," said Peter, quickly, anxious to remove any
adverse impression as to his courage which the stranger might form; "if
it's shooting or fighting, I'm there. I've potted as many niggers as any
man in our troop, I bet. It's floggings and hangings I'm off. It's the
way one's brought up, you know. My mother never even would kill our
ducks; she let them die of old age, and we had the feathers and the
eggs: and she was always drumming into me;--don't hit a fellow smaller
than yourself; don't hit a fellow weaker than yourself; don't hit a
fellow unless he can hit you back as good again. When you've always had
that sort of thing drummed into you, you can't get rid of it, somehow.
Now there was that other nigger they shot. They say he sat as still as
if he was cut out of stone, with his arms round his legs; and some of
the fellows gave him blows about the head and face before they took him
off to shoot him. Now, that's the sort of thing I can't do. It makes me
sick here, somehow." Peter put his hand rather low down over the pit of
his sto