t however, in the pitchy gloom, but by
dint of taking time, and exercising great care he at length came to
where it opened into a kloof, and breathed the fresh air of night once
more. Then he remembered that in his eagerness to get out he had left
his knob-kerrie in the _donga_. He was now entirely unarmed.

Well, it was of no use going back to look for it. He would cut a cudgel
presently, but in his eagerness to proceed, he was in no hurry to do
that. He began to feel desperately hungry, but that caused him not much
concern, for in the course of their wanderings together Fleetwood had
put him up to what he had called "veldt-scoff," to wit such roots and
berries as were innocuous and would sustain life at a pinch. What was
worse however was that a burning thirst had come upon him, and where to
find water in what was, for all he knew, an utterly waterless waste,
might become a most serious consideration. Still, there was no help for
it. He must endure as long as he could, and a feeling of elation took
hold of him as he thought of the awful experiences of the last
twenty-four hours and the peril from which he had escaped; for now a
sure and certain conviction was his that he had been spared with an
object, and that object the happiness of Lalante, and, incidentally, of
himself.

And this spirit supported him as, hour after hour, he held on his way,
now climbing the wearisome side of a steep kloof, only to find nothing
but another on the further side, steering his way by the stars, and
lo!--towards morning, in the waning moonlight, there rose the ridge of
the Lebombo, right at hand--with its grand terraced heights of bosh and
forest and krantz. And--better still--and his heart beat high with
joy--he had come right upon the spot where the object of their search
lay.

Yes. There was the black opening of the triangular cave about a mile
ahead. In the dimness of the hour before dawn he recognised it. Hunger
and thirst were forgotten now and he could have sang aloud in
exultation; for within that black triangle lay hidden that which should
bring him Lalante.

In his haste to reach it he almost ran. Was it the same? At first a
misgiving tortured his mind. There might be many such holes among the
broken-ness of the foot-hills. No. There was the ridge from which the
wretched myrmidon of Bully Rawson had fired at him. This was the place.

In his hurry he dived inside it. There was something in being on the
v