Dyke nodded, and the Kaffir now helping, the bird’s tough skin was stripped off, and laid, feathers downward, on the roof to dry.
“Jackals can’t reach it there, can they?” said Emson.
“No, I think not. Leopard might come and pull it down.”
“Yes: don’t let Duke be out of a night; there has been one hanging about lately.—But what are you going to do?”
“Dissect him,” said Dyke, who was on his knees with his sharp sheath-knife in his hand.
“Nonsense! Leave it now.”
“I want to see the poor old goblin’s gizzard, and open it. I know he has got knives and all sorts of things inside.”
“Then you may look,” said Emson. “I’m going to feed the horses and have a wash; they haven’t been unsaddled yet.”
He went to the thorn-fence and disappeared, while, hot and tired now, Dyke made short work of opening the great bird, and dragging out the gizzard, which he opened as a cook does that of a fowl, and exclaimed aloud at the contents:
“Here, Jack, fetch me some water in the tin;” and while the “boy” was gone, Dyke scraped out on to the sand quite a heap of pieces of flinty stone, rough crystals, and some pieces of iron, rusty nails, and a good-sized piece of hoop.