hey
advanced, until they fairly got up to the herd, and were less liable to
disturb them, for, being almost invisible, they were, no doubt, mistaken
for members of the family!

As the hunters now scattered, Ebony had some difficulty in keeping close
enough to the chief to observe his movements. Voalavo himself was too
intent upon his work to think of anything else, or to care who was near
him.

Gradually he approached close enough to an animal to thrust his spear
deep into its side. It sprang from the ground and made a noise as if
hurt by the horn of a comrade, but this is so common an event that the
rest of the cattle were in no way disturbed by it.

The chief saw by the staggering of the animal that it was mortally
wounded, and that there was no need to follow it up, as it could be
easily tracked and found in daylight. He therefore turned to attack
another animal that was close at hand.

"Now den," said Ebony to himself mentally, "your time's come. Go at
'im!"

Lowering his weapon to the charge, he glanced round and observed the
indistinct form of an animal on his right. It was apparently a little
one.

"Weal is as good as beef," thought Ebony, as he made a silent but
furious rush, scarcely able to restrain a shout of anticipated victory.

The spear-point missed the animal, just grazing its back, and went deep
into the ground, while the negro plunged with crushing violence on the
back of John Hockins, who had been trying to approach his game _a la_
Red Indian!

To say that poor Ebony was filled with horror, as well as shame and
self-abhorrence, is but a feeble statement.

"Don't speak, you black monster!" whispered the seaman in his ear, as he
seized him by the throat.

The rush of apology which had sprung from Ebony's heart was checked
abruptly at the lips.

Hockins released him, picked up his spear, and resumed his creeping way.
By this time several of the hunters had dealt silent death around them,
but still the herd failed to take alarm!

Being left alone Ebony's courage returned, and with it his enthusiasm.

"Come," he muttered, mentally, as he drew the spear from the ground,
"'Ockins not killed yet. Das one good job. No use to cry for not'ing.
You try again, Ginjah. Better luck nixt time."

Greatly encouraged by these thoughts he advanced on tip-toe--spear at
the charge--eyes glancing sharply all round. Suddenly a tall form
seemed to rise up right in front of him. The negro's heart l