Chapter Twenty Two.
A Startling Visit.
To Webster there was nothing unfamiliar in the lonely watches of the night, and the first long silent stretch recalled to him many a fleeting memory of hours spent upon the bridge amid the dark waters, when the mystery of night would close down upon the ship, bringing with it all manner of fancies and haunting superstitions. There was here, in this unpeopled land, the same brooding stillness, the same murmur in the air; and the deep darkness, too, was instinct and alive with the same sense of things unreal. It seemed as though, beyond the flickering circle of ruddy light cast by the crackling fires, there were forms peering in, under cover of the shadows which concealed them, at those within the light, and now and again he would strain his eyes and finger the rifle that rested across his knees.
The minutes slipped by quietly, with an occasional sigh from a contented ox; then the long, wailing cry of a jackal rose and fell, to be followed, as though it were a signal, by the deep, hollow growl of a lion. The oxen stirred uneasily, and Klaas came softly up with his red blanket wrapped about him.
“Seen anything, Klaas?”
“Nix, sieur; but I hear de leeuw.”
“Will he jump the fence?”
“Ek dink so. The wind blows across, and he will come from that side.”
“We will hear him when he springs?”
“Neh, baas, he will come over where it is dark, and lie still against the ground, so that we could walk up to him without seeing, though he sees us.”