again, and almost
precisely the same conversation took place, with the exception that
Dickenson declared at the end that they must have lost their way.

"Well, sir," replied the sergeant dryly, "it's hardly fair to say that,
sir."

"What do you mean?" said Dickenson tartly.

"Begging your pardon, sir, one can't lose what we've never had. It's
been a regular game of Blindman's buff to me, sir, ever since we left
the last post."

Dickenson was silent, for he felt that he had nothing to say but
"Forward!" so he said that, and the ponies moved on again.

"We must be going wrong, sergeant," said Dickenson at last. "We have
left Groenfontein to the right."

"No, sir; I think not," replied the man. "If we had, we should have
broken our shins against the big kopje and been challenged by our men."

"Then we've passed it to the left."

"No, sir. If we had we should have come upon the little river, and the
ponies would have been kicking up the stones."

"Then where are we?" said the lieutenant impatiently.

"That's just what I'm trying to find out, sir. I wouldn't care if I
knew which was the north, because then one could say which was the
south."

"Psh! It all comes of trusting to the ponies."

"Yes, sir; but that's one comfort," said the sergeant. "We know they're
honest and would not lead us wrong. Poor brutes! they're doing their
best."

"I'm beginning to feel hopelessly lost, sergeant. I believe we keep
going on and on in a circle."

"Well, sir, we might be doing worse, because it must be daylight
by-and-by."

"Not for hours," said Dickenson impatiently. "We are, as I said,
hopelessly lost."

"Hardly," said the sergeant to himself, "for here we are." Then aloud
he once more proposed that they should bivouac till daybreak.

"No," said the leader decisively. "We'll keep on. We must have been
coming in the right direction, and, after all, I dare say Groenfontein
is close at hand."

He was just about to give the order to march again when the long,
snappish, disappointed howl of a jackal was heard, and the ponies ceased
grazing and threw up their muzzles; while as Dickenson leaned forward to
give his mount an encouraging pat he could feel that the timid
creature's ears were thrust right forward.

"Always seems to me, sir," said the sergeant gently, "that the wild
things out in these plains never get enough to eat. Hark at that
brute."

He had hardly spoken when from out in the same direct