“Klaas, did you hear someone calling before I fired the first time?”
“Neh, sieur, I heard the lady call, and then the voice of the jackal, who led the lion here.”
“Can we have been mistaken?” she whispered; “and yet I heard it plainly: ‘He is dead, and so will perish all who seek his secret.’”
“He cannot be dead,” said Webster fiercely; “I will search again.”
This time Miss Anstrade remained by the fire, her rifle across her knees, and her eyes following the Will-o’-the-Wisp-like flashings of the lantern, while out of the blackness there rang the voice of Webster calling for his friend, a mournful cry that drew no response but the murmur of the river, and the still more plaintive call of a plover overhead. And sitting by the fire, with the light shining in her eyes, and her face resting on her hands, she still heard the voice calling out that Hume was dead, and she was sitting so when, after a long search, Webster came wearily and hopelessly back.
Before the morning, completely worn out, they dozed at their posts, and when there was light enough to show the ground the Gaika slipped away like a shadow towards the river, quartering the ground as he went, with his body bent, and his thin wide nostrils quivering. Reaching the river, he dwelt awhile over the spoor made by Webster, picking up an empty cartridge, then went up to the right, and presently, with a startled look, darted forward to where there projected the butt of a rifle from the rushes. It was Hume’s, and as he lifted it his quick glances roamed over the ground, noting the bruised grass, and then with a “Yoh” he jumped back, for a man stood beneath a tree looking at him with feverish eyes.
“Yinny,” said Klaas, fingering his assegai, and stooping his head to get a clearer view of the figure which was in the shade, then he rushed to the tree with a cry, “Baas, baas!”
It was indeed Frank Hume, gagged and fast bound to a mimosa-tree.
As the sun streamed over the valley the two sleepers by the dying fire awakened, and their haggard faces told how real had been the nightmare of the long night. The morning mist lay in a thick blanket over the river, and they shuddered to think what tragedy lay concealed under that winding-sheet, then started up to the sound of muffled voices, and the next minute advanced to meet two forms that loomed up vast.
“Halloa!” came a hail in a well-known voice.