“Ah, here’s the General,” cried Mr Rogers, as the great Zulu came striding up with a bok over his shoulder.
As he entered the little camp he threw down the bok, and began to skin it, looking about for Coffee and Chicory.
“Where are the boys?” he said at last.
“Sure they haven’t come back,” said Dinny; “and I hope they never will,” he added, taking the bok to cut up and cook a portion, for Dinny’s leg was very sore and bleeding from a severe bite, and his temper was also a little more sore from the doubt with which his story had been received.
The Zulu darted a fierce glance at him, but he did not speak. He only walked to the waggon, where Mr Rogers was examining some of the specimens he had killed, and said simply,—
“May I take the rifle, boss, and go and find my boys?”
“Yes, of course,” exclaimed Mr Rogers.
“I’ll go with you, General,” cried Jack eagerly.
“But you are too tired,” said his father.
“Oh, no,” cried Jack. “I don’t mind. I’ll go with the General.”