Both of those the woman brought were in the same condition, and she picked up a good-sized pebble and tapped it against the depression, showing that the injury must have been done in that way.
“Yes, that’s it, sure enough,” said Dyke thoughtfully; “and we knew no better, but fancied that it was disease.”
He looked glum and disappointed for a few moments, and then brightened as he took the gun from where he had stood it against a fence.
“Look,” he said, tapping it. “If Jack comes, I’ll shoot;” and he added to himself: “I will too. I’ll pepper him with the smallest shot I’ve got.”
“Yes; ooomps,” said the woman, nodding her head approvingly; “Jack say Baas Joe die. Have all mealie, all cow, all bull-bull, all everyting.—Baas Joe not go die?”
“No.”
“No,” assented the woman, smiling. “Tanta top. Tant don’t want um any more. Tief. Shoot Jack. No kill.”
“Oh no! I won’t kill him; but don’t let him come here again.”
Dyke went back to the house in the highest of spirits.
“It’s all right,” he said to himself. “We know now why the ostriches didn’t get on. Nice sort of disease that. Oh! I do wish I had caught the nigger at it. But never mind, Joe’s getting on; and as soon as I can leave him, I’ll hunt out some more nests, and we’ll begin all over again, and—”