“What is it?”
“Men come in to cut rheims again, and take away the bush fence.”
“Where are they?” said Hume, throwing up his rifle.
“They run when they see me. That man by the fire no good. So I went by the waggon and watch—bymby, when he drink and cry out one word, he shout in Zulu, baleka (quick). So I leave the waggon.”
“Hold that fellow!” shouted Hume, but there came a stifled cry from Webster, and when he got round the man had gone, and Jim was rubbing his eyes.
“Hang the swab,” he said; “he threw a handful of dust in my eyes when I attempted to seize him, and bounded away. What new devilment’s afoot?”
“That fellow was in league with someone, and another attempt has been made to stampede the oxen. They beat us at every turn.”
“You are very noisy out there,” said a voice from the waggon.
“We have been entertaining a guest, and he has just left us,” said Hume, with a wry face.
“A guest in this place, and at such an hour! You should have given me an opportunity of sharing the pleasure.”