he mopani before I moved
finger, let alone touched trigger, to get him out," said Peters
savagely. "By the Lord! I wonder you let him set foot inside the door
after that."

"What could one do? You can't turn a fellow away from your door, in
this country, in a state of practical destitution,--for that's what
being without a horse amounts to. I wish you could have saved his
horse, Peters. And now he's been here ten days, and seems to think he
owns the whole show. What do you think he's been up to this morning?"

"What?"

"Why I sent him out to shoot birds, or anything he darn chose, along the
river bank--anything to get rid of him. I sent Zingela with him to take
care of him, and carry the birds. Blest if he didn't start pounding
Zingela."

Peters whistled.

"That's pretty thick," he said.

"Thick! I should think so. Swore the boy had cheeked him, and he hated
niggers, and so forth. Coming on to another man's place--without an
invite, mind you--and then sailing in to bash his boys. Eh?"

"Yes. But had Zingela cheeked him?"

"Small wonder if he had. But all I could get out of the boy was that
Ancram abused him because he couldn't find a guinea-fowl that had run.
He owned to having answered he wasn't a dog. Then Ancram let into him.
I'm not a good-tempered chap, Peters, and there'll be a most unholy row
soon. What's to be done?"

"I have it," cried Peters, his whimsical face puckering all over with
glee. "I have it. You know how skeery he looked when we were telling
him about the possibility of a rising. Well then, let's cram him up
that the Matabele are awful vindictive devils, and Zingela will never
rest till he has his blood. How's that?"

"Well, that's an idea."

"Rather. He'll wilt at the notion of a bloodthirsty savage, always
looking out for his chance, day and night--especially the night, mind--
of getting an assegai into him. I believe that'll do the trick. What?"

"I shouldn't wonder. By Jove, Peters, you're a genius. Well, you work
it. If we both do, it'll look suspicious."

"Right! I will. Still the fellow can be amusing at times. I'll never
forget that first time we introduced ourselves. `I'm Peters,
prospector,' says I. `And I'm Ancram, prospectless,' says he, without a
moment's thought."

And Peters went off into a roar over the recollection.

CHAPTER FIVE.

ANCRAM--PROSPECTLESS.

In crediting his unwelcome guest with a desire to `take over the whole