riding down the quarry. At broad
high noon he came upon her, in a bare, stony place tufted with milk-bush.
She was crouching under a prickly-pear shrub, that threw a distorted blue
shadow on the sun-baked, sun-bleached ground, trying to eat the fruit in
the native way with two sticks. But she had no knife, and her mouth was
bleeding. Bough gave the tired pony both spurs when the prey he hunted
came in sight. She leaped up like a wild cat when the mounted man rode
down upon her, and ran, doubling like a hare. When overtaken, she fell
upon her face in the sand, and lay still, only shaken by her long pants.
Bough dismounted and caught her by the wrist and dragged her up with his
bandaged right hand. He beat her about her cheeks with his hard, open
left. Then he threw her across his saddle, but she writhed down, and lay
under the pony's feet.

He kicked her then, for giving so much trouble, lifted her again, and
tried to mount, holding her in one arm. But the frightened pony swerved
and backed, and the girl writhed, and struggled, and scratched like a wild
cat. She did not know what mercy meant, but she saw by the look that came
into those light eyes that this man would have none upon her. She fought
and bit and screamed.

Bough took an ox-reim then, that was coiled behind his saddle, and bound
her hands. He tied the end of the leather rope to the iron ring behind his
saddle, and remounted, and spurred his weary beast into a canter. The
little one was forced to run behind. Again and again she fell, and each
time she was jerked up and forced to run again upon her bleeding feet,
leaving rags of her garments upon the karroo-bushes and blood-marks on the
stones. And at last she fell, and rose no more, showing no sign of life
under the whip and the spur-rowel. Then Bough bent over and drew his long
hunting-knife and cut the reim, leaving her hands still bound. If any
spark of life remained in he girl, he could not tell. Her knees were drawn
in towards her body; her eyes were open, and rolled upwards; there was
foam upon her torn and bleeding mouth. She was as good as dead, anyway,
and the wild dogs would be sure to come by-and-by. Already an aasvogel
was hovering above; a mere speck, the great bird poised upon widespread
wings, high up in the illimitable blue.

Presently there would be a flock of these carrion feeders, that are not
averse to fresh-killed meat when it is to be had.

Bough remounted, and, humming a dance tune t