ation. Well, he would get through the day
as he had got through so many other Sundays--taking it thoroughly easy;
with a pipe, and the last illustrated papers out from England and a
magazine or two: then a snooze in the heat of the afternoon, and perhaps
a smoke and chat with the sergeant of Mounted Police. And he was used
to it.

Elvesdon rode on, his pulses keeping pace with every elastic bound of
his steed. He was in the very heyday of his prime, and in the full
health and strength of his physical being rejoiced in the sheer joy of
living. Higher and higher mounted the flaming wheel of the sun above
the roll of those golden plains; and sheeny winged birds, flashing from
frond to frond, seemed to echo in their gladsome piping the exaltation
which thrilled through his own heart. What was it that had given rise
to this new exaltation, this new interest? He did not trouble to answer
the mental, unformed question; he realised it, and that was sufficient.

From the open, undulating plains his way dived down suddenly, by a rocky
path, into the rugged broken country where deep kloofs, dense with thick
growth, fell away, their black slopes overhung perchance with craggy
rock walls whose ledges gave anchor to the spiky aloe, or scarlet hung
Kafferboen. Each labyrinthine defile widened out into another, or to a
grassy bottom shaded by the smooth wall of a red ironstone krantz rising
majestic and sheer. The chatter of monkeys skipping among the
tree-tops, mingled with the clear whistle of spreeuws in the cool shade,
the whole dominated by the deep, hoarse bark of the sentinel baboon,
aloft among the crags, keeping wary watch upon the unseen troop digging
for succulent roots on the hillside below.

On high, beyond the wildering trees cresting the ridge on the further
side of the valley, a great red turret stood forth against the blue of
the heavens. Elvesdon recognised that he was near the scene of the
adventure, and now the deep-mouthed baying of dogs, as though suddenly
roused, yet somewhat distant, showed that he was nearing his
destination; for the clink of hoof-stroke, and the jingle of bit,
carries far in a still, clear atmosphere and hilly country.

A rush of dogs, bellowing, open-mouthed, met him as he paced up the last
slope, but their hostility died down to muttered grumblings as they
recognised the horse, if not the rider, as they escorted both to the
house. Thornhill came forth.

"Glad to see you," he s