his rifle in two pieces in his hand, the soldier listened
eagerly. The men had evidently heard it too, for their chattering
ceased; the tall, powerful Kaffir, who had been cutting up the eland,
pausing with the knife between his teeth, a large lump of meat in either
hand, and his head bent on one side, in an attitude of deep attention, a
perfect bronze statue. An interval of silence intervened, and then once
more the same prolonged, tremulous, far distant cry came floating as it
were down on the breeze.

"No Zulu cry that, master," said Luji, dropping, as he spoke, the knife
from between his teeth, and his frame relaxing from its stiffened
position of intense listening. Again the tremulous cry came, sounding
so far away that even in that clear air it seemed as though the final
notes of the word coooi, long dwelt upon, alone reached the river bank.

"I have it, Luji!" suddenly exclaimed Hughes. "Put that venison down,
get your rifle, and follow me." The Kaffir obeyed, dropping the two
huge lumps of meat into a cauldron, which, half filled with mealies, was
destined to make a stew for the twelve o'clock meal, and then
deliberately washing his hands in the water, he went to the waggon,
disappeared under the tilt for a moment, and soon stood by his master's
side, armed with a heavy rifle.

"What master think the cry?" he asked.

"I think it is the Australian bush cry, which I never heard before, but
which I have read of; and if I am right there must be a European, not
able to find our camp."

Luji, as has already been said, was a Hottentot, and a true type of his
class. He was not brave to rashness, but was a merry, careless fellow,
ever ready for anything, and reckless and improvident to a degree seldom
equalled. He was no beauty, his woolly hair surmounting a yellow-black
face, ornamented by a mouth large enough to suffice for even his
enormous appetite. High cheek-bones, the elongated eyes peculiar to his
race set widely apart, a broad powerful chest, and sinewy limbs,
complete the portrait.

He was faithful, very idle, and a fair shot. Merry as a child when
pleased, but if wronged or annoyed, passionate and revengeful. He spoke
the language of the Zulu Kaffirs, had a fair smattering of English, and
was a good cook.

Over-readiness with his long knife was a fault in him, and had already
given much trouble. The rest of the men were Kaffirs and Bechuanas, one
of them named Noti being a good shot, and a w