this answer, judging the speaker by himself, and, indeed, it is fair
to say, by his knowledge of the world, struck Sellon as eminently
unsatisfactory. At the risk of a rebuff, a rupture even, he had more
than once adroitly tried to "draw" his host, but with so little success
as to leave him ignorant as to whether the latter was sufficiently
familiar with its contents as to render him independent of the document
itself.

Outwardly, the intercourse between the two men was pleasant and friendly
enough, and though they had little to do but smoke Boer tobacco and
wonder whether it would ever rain again, they had not yet exhausted
their subjects of conversation, Sellon was a lively talker, and full of
shrewd worldly wisdom, and the other's natural reserve admirably fitted
him for the part of a good listener. Or, on the other hand, more than
one strange wild incident, evolved out of the reticent, lonely man's own
experiences, was of vivid interest to the globe-trotting _viveur_.

Then it was that the latter came to impart snatches of his own history.
He had migrated to South Africa as a pure speculation, and ready for any
adventure that might come to hand--mining, treasure-seeking, a trip up
country, anything that promised possible profit. He had half arranged
an up-country trip, and it was while journeying to a distant township to
interview the other partner in the scheme that he had lost himself, and
accident had landed him so opportunely at Renshaw Fanning's door.

One night they had been thus chatting, and retired to bed, having
decided to make a start, at all risks, the day after the morrow. The
heat was something fearful. A dead, sultry, boding stillness reigned
over everything, productive of that strange nervous depression which is
wont to afflict mankind prior to an approaching convulsion of Nature.
Every door and window of the house stood open, as if to keep up the
fiction that there was any air to come in.

"I believe there's going to be an earthquake, at least," said Sellon, as
he turned in.

"Or a big thunderstorm, only--no such luck!" answered Renshaw.

It was not the night to bear the weight of a blanket, or even of a
sheet, had the latter luxury been among the resources of the
establishment. Sellon, after tossing uneasily for an hour, dropped off
into a heavy sleep, and dreamed.

He was alone in a deep, craggy gorge. Beetling rocks reared high above
his head, just discernible in the gloom, for it