peaceful with wisdom. He lay down at the pool's brink and
drank, and then gave them good day.

"'Will the baas permit me to sit in the shade of the
trees?' he asked. 'It is hot traveling.'

"He looked from them to the stretched body of Emmanuel as
he spoke.

"'Sit over there, then,' said Barend, 'and see you keep
quiet.'

"'Oh, I shall not wake that baas, at all events,' said the
old Kafir, pointing to the body.

"Both the Boers were startled at this, but the man walked
calmly to the farthest tree, and piled his bundles there.

"'We all have our troubles,' he said, as he shook out his
brown blanket. 'Age for some of us, sorrow for others. And
then there is death, too. I am not dead, at least.'

"'Why do you talk of death?' demanded Peter sharply.

"The old Kafir held up a finger. There was a kind of mirth
in his motion. 'Hush, or you will wake him,' he replied.
'But I know all about death, except the taste of it. I know
how it looks, and how it lies on the ground, and how it
comes, and how it is concealed.'

"He raised his hard old face with eyes half-closed, and
snuffled at the air.

"'And how it smells, too,' he said.

"'You will learn the taste of it in a minute,' cried
Barend, springing to his feet with a white face. 'You old
scarecrow, what is it you are hinting about? Do you take us
for murderers?'

"The old Kafir sat down among his bundles and fumbled for
his pipe. There was no concern on him; he had the still
ease of one who comes upon his own special task, sees it,
and knows he is the master of it. While Barend, shaking a
little, stood gauntly over him, he filled his pipe, lit it,
and blew forth a cloud of smoke.

"'Pooh!' he said. 'The baas gives too much importance to
trifles. A dead man is of less worth than a living one. It
is the baas I am interested in--not the carrion.'

"He spat very leisurely and took the pipe to his lips
again.

"Barend, after a little hesitation, sat down again.

"'I have known white men,' said the old Kahr, leaning back
against his tree, 'who scratched crosses in the ground, and
traced them on their breasts with a finger, when they came
upon death or the dead. That is a strong charm. And in the
east, yonder, are others who spill wine on the earth. But
in my tribe we neither make crosses nor waste liquor. We
spit. Where is the baas going?'

"'Across Baviaan's Nek,' said Barend, very quietly.

"'Ah! That is a long way. Tonight the baas should camp by
the