Then silence, save that the cry of some prowling creature far out on the veldt sounded wonderfully like the baying of a dog.
Chapter Twenty Six.
A Dark Visitor.
An hour must have passed away, during which neither of the weary bearers of the despatch moved. Then in a low whisper West spoke.
“Asleep, Ingle?”
“Asleep? No,” was whispered back. “I can’t close my eyes.”
“Neither can I.”
“Why not?”