At this moment Bona St. Faine appeared at the gate, and taking little Kathleen's hand in hers, led her resolutely away, threatening the servants with their master's displeasure for suffering such a child to see the dead wolf.
"How wrong of you, Oliver!" she said, glancing at her brother reproachfully.
To avoid her upbraiding, which Oliver felt he deserved, he stepped behind old Gobur, who was forcing open the wolf's mouth and examining its teeth. He sprang up excitedly and pointed to the little bits of matted hair sticking about them.
"What is that?" he asked triumphantly. "Where did that come from? The buffalo hide. The wolves as well as the jackals follow the tiger to feast on what he leaves, as every hunter knows. The little beebee is right. We must search again."
How Oliver listened! These dark-skinned men, who were chattering round him so fast, had lived in the midst of wild beasts all their lives.
One was telling of a wolf which had stolen a baby from its mother's arm as she lay sleeping.
The gardener hurried away to find his master. The coolies who had carried Bona's dandy joined in the eager discussion; some were contradicting the old man's assertion, others were asking questions none of them could answer. Had any one heard the child cry? No, not even the coolies in the veranda. Why, they kept on fanning the empty cot! The child had been spirited away in its sleep. Only a clever old wolf could have done it.
"That scratch on its shoulder—was the blood dropping from it?" asked Gobur, almost breathlessly. "Wherever a drop has fallen you will find the black ants covering it by this time. Run and look."
Up sprang Mr. Desborough's own syce, followed by half-a-dozen others, gesticulating and talking all at once at the top of their voices.
"Stop that row!" exclaimed Mr. Desborough, who was bending over the cot of his other little boy, trying to prepare its mother for the dread disclosure.