Emson closed his eyes, and Dyke sat watching him till his regular
breathing told that he was fast asleep, and then the lad went out to go
and busy himself about the place, meaning to take his gun that evening
and make for the patch of forest beyond the kopje, so as to shoot a
couple or so of the guinea-fowl; but a sharp storm came on and prevented
him, though at bed-time, when he looked out, after seeing that the lion
cubs and dog were curled up happily enough together, the stars were
shining brilliantly, and a dull, soft light in the east told that the
full moon would soon be up.

Five minutes later he was in his corner, feeling very drowsy, and a
little troubled in his mind about his brother's determination.

"But Joe'll think differently when he gets better," Dyke said to
himself; and then began to think whether he ought not to have watched
the wagon.

"One can't work and watch, too," he thought as he yawned, "but I might
have made Duke sleep in the wagon, and I will."

But he was so utterly wearied out that he kept putting off the getting
up from minute to minute, till he forgot all about it in sleep, plunging
at once into a troubled dream, in which he saw his brother standing,
angry and threatening with a big stick in his hand, and about to bring
it down upon him with a heavy thud for neglecting their valuable stores,
when he awoke to find that there was some substance in that dream.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

THE NIGHT ATTACK.

For a few moments Dyke could not collect himself sufficiently to speak,
but stared at the black figure leaning over him, with what seemed to be
a heavy club, while the shadow cast by the feeble lamp upon the wall to
his left looked prodigious.

"Get up! Come!" was whispered in his ear, and he felt the stout cudgel
pressed upon his legs. "You, Tant?" he faltered. "Oomps. Jump. Jack
come. Jack tief."

"What!" cried Dyke springing up, half-dressed, as he had lain down.

"Shoo!" whispered the woman. "Bring gun, shoot."

"You want me to shoot Jack?"

"Oomps. Wagon. Kaffirs take all mealies."

"You're a pretty sort of a wife," thought Dyke, as he caught up his
loaded gun from the corner, and wondered that the dog had not stirred.

Just then Tanta Sal touched his arm, pointed to the light, and made a
puffing sound with her lips.

"Put it out?" he whispered.

She nodded, and Dyke turned down the wick, so that the place was only
lit up by the pale rays of the moon.

"Wh