frantic with rage.

Several more minutes passed, which to Congo seemed hours, and still
nothing was seen or heard of his companion. Had Swartboy returned to
the camp? If so, why had not Arend, on ascertaining what was wrong,
hastened to the relief of his faithful servant? As some addition to the
discomforts of the place, the pit contained many reptiles and insects
that had in some manner obtained admittance, and, like himself, could
not escape. There were toads, frogs, large ants called "soldiers," and
other creatures whose company he had no relish to keep.

In vain he called, "Swartboy!" and "Baas Arend!" No one came to his
call. The strong, vindictive spirit of his race was soon roused to the
pitch of fury, and liberty became only desired for one object. That was
revenge,--revenge on the man who, instead of releasing him from his
imprisonment, only exulted in its continuance.

The Bushman had not been injured in falling into the pit, as may be
supposed. After fully comprehending the manner in which his amusement
had been so suddenly brought to a termination, his first thought was to
extricate himself, without asking assistance from the man who had
furnished him with the fun. His pride would be greatly mortified should
the Kaffir get out of his pit, and find him in the other. That would be
a humiliating rencontre.

In silence, therefore, he listened to Congo's cries for assistance,
while at the same time doing all in his power to extricate himself. He
tried to pull up a sharp-pointed stake that stood in the bottom of the
pit. This piece of timber had been placed there for the purpose of
impaling and killing the hippopotamus or elephant that should drop down
upon it; and had the Bushman succeeded in taking it from the place where
it had been planted, he might have used it in working his own way to the
surface of the earth. This object, however, he was unable to
accomplish, and his mind became diverted to another idea.

Swartboy had a system of logic, not wholly peculiar to himself, by which
he was enabled to discover that there must be some first cause for his
being in a place from which he could not escape. That cause was no
other than Congo. Had the Kaffir not fallen into a pit, Swartboy was
quite certain that he would have escaped the similar calamity.

He would have liberated Congo from his confinement, and perhaps
sympathised with his misfortune, after the first ebullitions of his
mirth had be