g:

"Friend of my father, here is meat. Eat!"

Maliwe then seized his stick, called Sibi the dog, and left the hut.
Kalaza skinned the sheep, and eat about a third of the meat, selecting
the choicest parts. He then buried the remainder of the carcase, with
the skin, in the loose, dry dung at the side of the kraal. Having done
this he walked off quickly in the direction of the village.

After leaving the hut, Maliwe climbed a rocky ridge, which rose steeply
for about a hundred yards at the back of the kraal. On the comb of the
ridge stood an immense boulder, and Maliwe spent the rest of the night
sitting to lee-ward of this, Sibi, the dog, curled up at his feet,
growling at intervals, and every now and then looking in the direction
of the hut, which was, like the kraal, out of sight, with cars cocked
and nostrils dilated.

III.

Just before dawn, Maliwe suddenly fell into the deep sleep of nervous
exhaustion. His knees were drawn up, and his head, bent forward, rested
on them sideways, He was still asleep when the sun arose and warmed
his chilled limbs. He was wakened suddenly by the loud barking of the
dog, so he bounded to his feet and ran round the boulder, to a spot
from whence he could see the hut and the kraal. Some people on
horseback had just reached the hut, and one dismounted and looked in.
He recognized them all. There was his master, Gert Botha, on his old
grey mare; there was the European sergeant, of the Cape Police; there
was private Jim Gubo of the same force, and there was Kalaza, the
"friend of his father" and his guest of the previous night.

As he stood looking, some one called out, "There he is!" The wretched
man then realised his situation. His first impulse was to fly--all the
savage in him prompting towards an escape into the bush, which lay
temptingly near. He sprang back and ran--fleet as a bush-buck towards
the cover. But after running a few yards he stopped dead still, and
then, turning round, walked slowly back over the ridge in the direction
of the hut. As he crossed the comb, he was met by the sergeant and Jim
Gubo, breathless from running up the steep hill. By them he was
promptly hand-cuffed, and then led down to where his master was
standing, between the hut and the kraal. The old goat was walking up
and down inside the kraal gate, tinkling his bell and wondering why he
and his flock had not been let out at the usual time. Kalaza pointed
out to Gert Botha the blood stains which