here, you
understand, when I return to Doppersdorp, and you--you have not seen me
now."

The other nodded violently.

"Go then, Tom. I trust you."

The Kaffir, released, rose to his feet, and seized his weapons. It was
a critical moment for Roden. So were those which followed.

For now, footsteps were heard returning, the footsteps of several
persons, and voices.

"Hey, Geunkwe!" called out one of the latter, "Have you not had enough
yet? Wait, we will come and have some more, too."

"No, no!" cried Tom, _alias_ Geunkwe, hurriedly. "I am coming. We had
better not linger here. The smoke will attract white men, and the
country is too open. Let us hurry on after the others, before it is too
late." And springing over the sod wall, he joined those still outside
the garden who had returned to look for him; and with inexpressible
relief Roden could hear their deep voices receding into distance and
silence.

Even then, a misgiving assailed him. Could a savage be trusted,
especially in war-time? What if this one, now out of reach of the
threatening revolver, should betray him to his countrymen? What if even
now the latter were stealing back to surprise and overpower him without
loss to themselves? The idea was not an exhilarating one.

But although he understood but little of what had passed, he had been
struck by the eagerness with which Tom had striven to prevent his
fellow-countrymen from entering, and had succeeded. Even this, however,
might be part of the _ruse_. Yet he tried to believe that the Kaffir
was trustworthy, as indeed the event proved, for when, after lying
concealed for upwards of an hour more, Roden ventured cautiously to peer
forth, lo, there was not an enemy in sight.

The sun was now above the horizon, and the bird and insect life of the
veldt was starting into glad and joyous being, as Roden, cramped and
stiff from his constrained attitude, stepped warily forth to explore.
The black ruins of the burnt house still smouldered, sending up jets of
blue smoke, and as he stood in the dazzling radiance of the new-born
day, contemplating this holocaust of savage hate and vengeance, he
thought with a sweet, warm glow around his heart, not unmixed with awe,
of how that mysterious voice had called him forth from the slumber which
would have ended in the slumber of death.

He turned back to the fruit garden to breakfast on its luscious
contents, for his saddlebag had been left within the bur