The boy was the only one awake, and out in the wide space beyond he heard a voice calling—
"Ngonyama'"
He held his breath, and his throat grew very dry, for it was the voice he had heard in the cavern, only sad this time, and not mocking as before.
"Ngonyama!—yama!" It came thin and melancholy, with a long lingering on the last syllables.
He put his hand out to rouse Mr. Hume, then drew it back ashamed of his fancies; but the movement awoke the jackal. It lifted its head, snuffed the air, then sprang up with the ruff on its neck erect, and its sharp white teeth gleaming. Several moments it stood so, then with many a look out, curled itself up again.
Venning had watched it breathlessly, now he patted it to sleep, and dozed off himself, only to wake up in a violent tremble, with that sound quivering plaintively in the air—
"Ngonyama! Ngonyama!"
He brushed his hand across his forehead, and found his face burning hot. He removed his blanket from his shoulders and sat up, still patting the jackal. The fire was before him, and the dark ring of the cave's mouth; but his eyes dilated as he looked, for within the glare of the fire was that same awful face he had seen down in the darkness.
He would have cried out, but his voice would not come; and with an effort—for all the blood seemed to have left his limbs—he slowly moved his hand to Mr. Hume's.
The Hunter made no sign; but Venning, with his face turned still in a frozen stare towards the entrance, caught a change in the breathing, and knew that his touch had answered its purpose. To the boy they were acting over the scene in the cavern again. He was waiting for the shrill laugh, the sudden treacherous thrust of steel in the dark, and then the ring of metal on the rocks.