“‘You must trap a baboon,’ explained the old Kafir,—‘a leading baboon, for choice, who has a lot to say in the government of the troop; and then you must skin him, and let him go again. The others will travel miles and miles as soon as they see him, and never come back again.’
“‘It makes me sick to think of it,’ said Shadrach. ‘Surely you know some other way of scaring them?’
“The old Kafir shook his head slowly, but the yellow man ceased to smile and play with the straw, and spoke:
“‘I do not believe in that way, baas. A Shangaan baboon’—he grinned at his companion—‘is more easily frightened than those of the Drakensberg. I am of the bushmen, and I know. If you flay one of those up yonder, 469 the others will make war, and where one came before, ten will come every night. A baboon is not a fat, lazy Kafir; one must be careful with him!’
“‘How would you drive them away, then?’ asked Shadrach.
“The yellow man shuffled his hands in the dust, squatting on his heels. There, there! See—the baboon in the yard is doing the very same thing!
“‘If I were the baas,’ said the yellow man, ‘I would turn out the young men to walk round the fields at night, with buckets to hit with sticks, and make a noise. And I—well, I am of the bushmen.’ He scratched himself and smiled emptily.
“‘Yes, yes?’ demanded Shadrach. He knew the wonderful ways of the bushmen with some animals.
“‘I do not know if anything can be done,’ said the yellow man, ‘but, if the baas is willing, I can go up to the rocks and try.’
“‘How?’