r to sell fresh vegetables, bread, or anything else
saleable.

Volume 1, Chapter III.

THE LIONESS OF ZOUTPANSBURGH.

It was a glorious April morning, and the scene was pleasant enough on
the banks of the Limpolulo, not far from a small kraal of native huts
called Origstadt, where a tributary stream runs into the river. A light
subaltern's tent, with its single pole, was pitched under a clump of
spreading trees; close to it stood a waggon, with a hooped tilt and
strong canvas covering, while fourteen powerful oxen were browsing near.
Behind the tent two horses were picketed. Seven men were variously
employed, some cutting wood for the fire, which blazed up merrily under
a tree, some cooking, and others mending the heavy harness, in readiness
for the morrow's march. On a branch near, hung the carcase of a fat
eland, from which animal a strongly built Hottentot was employed cutting
a large slice with his long sharp knife. In front of the tent, with a
couple of Madras cowrie baskets at his feet, busily engaged sponging out
a rifle, Captain Hughes was seated. There was not much water in the
river, though there had been trouble enough in crossing it the day
before with the waggon, on account of the huge boulders of stone rolled
down during the rainy season. A rich plain stretched away towards the
mountains, which were those of the Drakenburgh range, and the course of
the river, as it wound here and there, could be easily marked until it
was lost in the thick woods near the hills. Unlike the vast dried up
plains of India, this African land was undulating, dotted with clumps of
trees and covered with grass, which here and there near the river grew
to a great height. A conical hill, called the Silver Mountain, rose
about ten miles away, and beyond the Drakenburgh range lay the country
ruled by the powerful native chief Mozelkatse. In the trees by the
water side the parrots were screaming and chattering, and some beautiful
squirrels were playing among the branches or chasing each other in the
sunshine.

A deep dead silence reigned around, broken only by the murmur of the
water, the occasional scream of the parrots, and the hum of the
mosquitoes, which were so numerous on the banks of the Limpolulo as to
be nearly unendurable even to the practised Indian. A more peaceful
scene could not be imagined, when suddenly the silence was broken, and a
long peculiar melancholy cry came floating on the breeze.

Starting up,