tering stride, while the wind swept, cool and soft, against his
cheeks.

Then he began to think about the events of the day--his narrow escape,
which seemed to be dreamlike now, and to belong to the past; next he
found himself wondering where the dog was, and whether it had found his
cartridge pouch. Lastly, he thought of Emson, and his ride back to
fetch Jack and the oxen--a long task, for the bullocks were so slow and
deliberate at every pace.

But it did not seem to matter, for everything was very restful and
pleasant, as the golden sun sent the shadow of himself and horse far
away along the plain. He was safe, for the lion could be laughed at by
any one well mounted as he was then. At last the pleasant sensation of
safety was combined with a dull restfulness that grew and grew, till,
moving gently in that canter over the soft sand, which hushed the cob's
paces to a dull throb, the glow in the west became paler and paler, and
then dark.

Then bright again, for Dyke recovered himself with a jerk, and sat
upright, staring.

"I do believe I was dropping off to sleep," he muttered. "That won't
do. I shall be off.--Go on, Breezy, old boy. You had a good long rest,
and didn't have to crawl on your knees. How far is it now?"

Far enough, for the kopje was only just visible against the sky.

But again it did not seem to matter, for all grew dull again. Dyke had
kept on nodding forward, and was jerked up again, but only for him to
begin nodding again. Soon after he made a lurch to the left, and Breezy
ceased cantering, and gave himself a hitch. Then followed a lurch to
the right, and the cob gave himself another hitch to keep his master
upon his back, progressing afterwards at a steady walk, balancing his
load: for Dyke was fast asleep, with the reins slack and his chin down
upon his chest, and kept in his place by the natural clinging of his
knees, and the easy movement of the sagacious beast he rode. But all at
once he lurched forward, and instinctively clung to the horse's neck,
with the result that Breezy stopped short, and began to crop the shoots
of the bushes, only moving a step or two from time to time.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

DYKE IS AGGRIEVED.

"Fine chance for a lion," said Emson, as at dusk he left the oxen, being
slowly driven by Kaffir Jack, and cantered off to his left to draw rein
in front of Dyke, the boy sitting upright with a start.

"Eh?"

"I say a fine chance for a lion," cried Emso