e he had stood it against a fence.

"Look," he said, tapping it. "If Jack comes, I'll shoot;" and he added
to himself: "I will too. I'll pepper him with the smallest shot I've
got."

"Yes; ooomps," said the woman, nodding her head approvingly; "Jack say
Baas Joe die. Have all mealie, all cow, all bull-bull, all everyting.--
Baas Joe not go die?"

"No."

"No," assented the woman, smiling. "Tanta top. Tant don't want um any
more. Tief. Shoot Jack. No kill."

"Oh no! I won't kill him; but don't let him come here again."

Dyke went back to the house in the highest of spirits.

"It's all right," he said to himself. "We know now why the ostriches
didn't get on. Nice sort of disease that. Oh! I do wish I had caught
the nigger at it. But never mind, Joe's getting on; and as soon as I
can leave him, I'll hunt out some more nests, and we'll begin all over
again, and--"

The boy stopped just inside the door, trembling, for as he appeared, the
very ghost of a voice whispered feebly:

"That you, little un? How long you have been." The next moment Dyke
was on his knees by the rough couch, holding one of the thin hands in
his and trying to speak; but it was as if something had seized him by
the throat, for not a word would come.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

BLACK SHADOWS.

"What has been the matter, young un?" piped Emson feebly. "I say, don't
look like that. Have I had a fall from my horse? I can't lift my
hand."

Dyke told him at last as he clung to that hand, and Emson's face grew
more and more troubled.

"Don't," he whispered excitedly--"don't stop. You--you may catch--the
fever--too."

"What!" cried Dyke, with a forced laugh, "me catch the fever! Well, who
cares? I don't. Bother! Who's going to catch it, old chap? Why, I
should have caught it a hundred times before now."

"You--you've been--nursing me?"

"I've been here, but it hasn't been much of nursing," cried Dyke,
laughing in a half-choking way, as his breast swelled with joy. "I've
fed you with a spoon and washed your face. Oh Joe, old man, you've been
just like a big, stupid old baby."

"And have I been ill long?"

"Yes, ever so long. I was a terrible while before I got back, because
the little river out yonder was flooded, and when I did come, I--I--I--
oh Joe, old chap, I do feel so happy once more."

It was a wise addition to his speech, for Dyke never looked much more
miserable in his life; but there was enough in h