back, looking at me inquiringly. The matter
might have ended seriously, but for two things--Marchmont was at heart a
gentleman, and in response to my urgent request to him to apologise
for the gross affront he had put upon our host--did so frankly by first
extending his hand to the man who had knocked him down. And then, as he
never did things by halves, he came with me to Asi and said, as he shook
hands with him:--

"By Jove, Mr. Asi, that man of yours could knock down a bullock. I never
had such a thundering smack in my life."

The chief smiled, then said gravely, in English, that he was sorry that
such an unpleasant incident had occurred. Then, after--with its many
attendant ceremonies--we had drunk our bowls of kava, and were smoking
and chatting, Asi asked Marchmont to let him examine his gun and rifle
(Marchmont had a Soper rifle and one of Manton's best make of guns; I
had my Winchester and a fairly good gun). The moment Asi saw the Soper
rifle his eyes lit up, and he produced another from one of the house
beams overhead, and said regretfully that he had no cartridges left,
and was using a Snider instead. Marchmont promptly offered to give him
fifty.

"You must not do that," I said, "it will get us into serious trouble.
Asi"--and I turned to the chief--"will understand why we must not give
him cartridges to be used for warfare. It would be a great breach of
faith for us to do so--would it not?"

Keenly anxious as he was to obtain possession of the ammunition, the
chief, with a sigh of regret, acquiesced, but Marchmont sulked, and for
quite two hours after we had left the rebel village did not exchange a
word with me.

After getting over the range, and whilst we were descending the slope to
the southern littoral, some mongrel curs that belonged to our carriers,
and had gone on ahead of us, put up a wild sow with seven suckers, and
at once started off in pursuit. The old, razor-backed sow doubled
and came flying past us, with her nimble-footed and striped progeny
following. Marchmont and I both fired simultaneously--at the sow. I
missed her, but my charge of No 3 shot tumbled over one of the piglets,
which was at her heels, and Marchmont's Soper bullet took her in the
belly, and passed clean through her. But although she went down for a
few moments she was up again like a Jack-in-the-box, and with an angry
squeal scurried along the thick carpet of dead leaves, and then darted
into the buttressed recesses of