ough the gloom of the
night, became fixed upon a quadruped, whose species he could not well
make out. It appeared about the size of a leopard. It was crawling
slowly and silently towards him.

It drew nearer; and just as he thought it was about to spring upon him,
it uttered a low, moaning noise. Congo recognised the dog Spoor'em.

For a moment there was joy in the African's soul. The faithful dog was
still living, and had not forsaken him. If he was to die, it would be
in company of the most affectionate friend a man can have among the
brute creation. Groot Willem and the giraffes were for a while
forgotten.

As the dog crawled close up to him, Congo saw that it carried one leg
raised up from the ground, and that the hair from the shoulder downwards
was clotted with blood.

Spoor'em appeared to forget the pain of his wound, in the joy of again
meeting his master, and never had Congo felt so strongly the wish to be
able to speak. Gagged as he was, he could not. Not one kind word of
encouragement could he give to the creature that, despite its own
sufferings, had not forsaken him. He knew that the dog was listening
for the familiar tones of his voice, and looked reproachful that he was
not allowed to hear them.

Congo did not wish even a brute to think him ungrateful, and yet there
was no way by which he could let Spoor'em know that such was the case.

Not long after the arrival of the dog, Congo heard the report of a gun.
To the sharp ears of the Kaffir it seemed to have a familiar sound. It
was very loud, and like the report of a _roer_. It sounded like Groot
Willem's gun, but how could the hunter be there? Congo could not hope
it was he. Some minutes of profound silence succeeded the shot, which
was then followed by three others, and once more all was still. A
quarter of an hour passed, and hoof-strokes were heard on the hill
above; a party of horsemen were riding along the crest of the ridge.
Congo could hear their voices, mingling with the heavy footfall of the
horses.

They were about to pass by the spot. "The thieves," thought Congo.
"They are shifting their quarters."

They were not more than a hundred yards from the tree where he was tied;
and, as they came opposite, and just as he became satisfied that they
were going on without chance of seeing him, he heard a sort of struggle,
followed by the words: "Hold up a minute, Hendrik; my horse has got on
one side of a tree, and Tootla the oth