“Horses only? Oh no; the bullocks get them terribly, and the various kinds of antelopes as well. I’ve seen skins taken off blesboks and wildebeestes full of holes. And there you are, my lad; that’s a lecture on natural history.”
“Given in the queerest place and at the strangest time a lecture was ever given anywhere,” said West.
“It is very horrible, though, for the animals to be tortured so!”
“Yes,” said Ingleborough thoughtfully; “but the flies must enjoy themselves wonderfully. They must have what people in England call a high old time, and—eh? What’s the matter?”
“Be ready!” whispered West. “Someone coming; there’s no mistake now!”
Chapter Twenty Four.
A Real Alarm.
Ingleborough drew in his breath with a hiss, and once more stood on his guard with his comrade right in the darkness, and in front of the two ponies, where a good view of the stream outside and the corner rock fringed with ferns could be obtained.