Well! it was something to have him here. His very presence gave her a feeling of protection. One of the umfans made a diversion by rising like a somnambulist from his dreams to throw a great heap of fuel on the fire. Mechanically, he performed his task, then, without looking to east or west, rolled himself to sleep again.
“You keep up your fires all night—here?” remarked the stranger.
“I always keep them up—it gives those brutes something to do,” was Roper’s surly response. “And why not, about here?”
“Oh, it’s a good general plan. But there isn’t any particular need round here. No lions. A stray hyena or two is the worst you’ll strike.”
“You seem to know all about it,” sneered Roper, his straggly moustache lifted to one side in the usual unlovely manner.
“I ought to. I helped to make that road.” The stranger slightly indicated the wide and dusty main track fifty yards off. Roper gaped a moment or two.
“Ah! a blessed pioneer!” he said at last, but there was no benediction in his tone. “And a mighty rotten road it is,” he was presently inspired to remark.
“Yes,” said the stranger placidly, “roads are like dogs—and some men—they soon go to pot if they are not kept in order.”
Roper digested this as best he might, but the process did not appear to agree with him.
“No one seems to realise that it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning,” he suddenly snarled. “Get off to bed, youngster.” He added to the stranger: “If you’re going to make tracks for your waggons at dawn, I should advise you to get some sleep too.”