r the boy dropped off,
with the light of the fire they kept up glancing on the canvas, he
started back into wakefulness again, wondering whether the river was
still going down, or some fancied sound meant a fresh accession to the
flood-waters coming down from the mountains.

The morning broke at last, and leaping out of the wagon, Dyke ran down
toward the river, closely followed by the dog, now nearly recovered,
scaring away a buck which had been lurking in the covert, the graceful
little creature bounding away before him giving pretty good proof of the
satisfactory state of the river by dashing over the thick bed of
intervening sand and stones, splashing through the water, and bounding
up the other side.

The waters were down, leaving a deep bed of sand, and with a place to
ford that was evidently not knee-deep.

Dyke ran excitedly back, gave his orders, and to Jack's great disgust he
had to inspan, mount on the wagon-box, and shout to the oxen to _trek_,
the well-rested beasts willingly dragging the wagon through the heavy
loose drift and down into the water, which did not rise to the naves of
the wheels. It took rather a hard pull to get up the other side, but
the difficulty was soon mastered, the bullocks following Breezy, as his
master led the way, and in half an hour after starting they were at last
well on the road to Kopfontein, whose rocky mound stood up clearly in
the morning light.

Dyke restrained his impatience a little longer--that is, till the wagon
was well on its way over the plain; then touching Breezy's sides he went
on ahead at a gallop, the roofing of the house and sheds gradually
growing plainer; then there were the ostrich-pens, with a few dimly seen
birds stalking about, and object after object coming rapidly into sight.
But there was no one visible: there appeared to be no blue thread of
smoke rising in the morning air, where Tanta Sal was boiling the kettle;
all looked wonderfully still, and had it not been for the ostriches here
and there, Dyke would have been disposed to think the place was
deserted.

On, still nearer and nearer, but no one appeared, and again still
nearer, and his lips parted to utter a loud shout to announce his
coming.

But somehow the cry froze in his throat, and he dared not utter it; the
place was deserted, he felt sure. Tanta Sal must have gone off to seek
her tribe after the terrible catastrophe, for Dyke felt sure now that
his surmise was right, and that Em