ltry Mashunaland, is likely not to
supply a soothing contrast.

His partner takes no notice of the passing ill-humour save for a light
laugh, as he returns to his former occupation, the superintending and
part assisting at, a certain cooking process under the shade of a tree,
effected by a native boy and now nearly completed. A tent and a small
waggon supply the residential quarters, the latter for the "boys," who
turn in on the ground underneath it--the former for their masters. A
"scherm" of chopped boughs encloses the camp, and within this the
donkeys are safeguarded at night: a case of learning wisdom by
experience, for already two of these useful little animals have fallen a
prey to lions through being left thus unprotected. Just outside this is
a partially sunken shaft, surmounted by a rude windlass.

"What have we got for `scoff,' Jack?" says Justin Spence, yawning lazily
as he withdraws his dripping hands from the calabash wash-basin, and
saunters across to the scene of culinary operations. "Oh, Lord!" giving
a sniff or two as a vile and carrion-like effluvium strikes upon his
nostrils. "There's one of those beastly stink-ants around somewhere.
Here, Sixpence!" calling to one of a trio of Mashuna boys lounging
beneath the shade of the waggon aforesaid. "_Hamba petula_ stink-ant--
what the deuce is the word, Jack? _'Iye_, yes, that's it _Bulal'iye_.
Comprenny? Well, clear then. _Hamba_. Scoot."

A splutter of bass laughter went up from the natives at this lucid
direction, which, however, the other man soon made clear.

"Oh, never mind about the stink-ant," he said. "Why, man, it's all in
the day's work. You must get used to these little trifles, or you'll
never do any good at prospecting."

"Oh, damn prospecting! I hate it," returned Justin, stretching his
graceful length upon the ground. "Ladle out the scoff and let's fall
to. I want to have another smoke."

"Oh, Lucky Jim!
How I envy him--"

resumed Jack Skelsey, while engaged in the above occupation.

"So do I, Jack, or anybody else to whom that word `lucky' can be said to
apply--and I'm afraid whoever that is it'll never be us."

"You never can tell, old man. Luck generally strikes a chap when least
expected."

"Then now's the time for it to strike me; right now, Jack."

"Oh, I don't know we've much to grouse about, Spence. It's beastly hot
up here, and we're sweating our souls out all for nothing. But after
all, it's better