en exhausted; but now, on being entrapped himself, he was
only conscious that some one was to blame for the disagreeable incident,
and was unable to admit that this some one was himself. The mishap had
befallen him in company with the Kaffir. It was that individual's
misfortune that had conducted to his own, and this was another reason
why he now submitted to his captivity in profound silence.

Unlike Congo, he did not experience the soul-harrowing thought of being
neglected, and could therefore endure his confinement with some degree
of patience not possible to his companion. Moreover, he had the hope of
speedy deliverance, which to Congo was denied.

He knew that Arend would soon return to the camp with the stray horse,
and miss them. The water-vessel would also be missed, and a search
would be made for it in the right direction. No doubt Arend, seeing
that the bucket was taken away from the camp, and finding that they did
not return, would come toward the drift,--the only place where water
could be dipped up. In doing so he must pass within sight of the pits.
With this calculation, therefore, Swartboy could reconcile himself to
patience and silence, whereas the Kaffir had no such consolatory data to
reflect upon.

CHAPTER FOUR.

IN THE PITS.

As time passed on, however, and Swartboy saw that the sun was
descending, and that the shades of night would soon be gathering over
the river, his hopes began to sink within him. He could not understand
why the young hunter had not long ago come to release them. Groot
Willem, Hendrik, and Hans should have returned by that time; and the
four should have made an effectual search for their missing servants.
He had remained silent for a long time, under very peculiar
circumstances. But silence now became unbearable, and he was seized
with a sudden desire to express his dissatisfaction at the manner Fate
had been dealing out events,--a desire no longer to be resisted. The
silence was at last broken by his calling out--

"Congo, you ole fool, where are you? What for don't you go home?"

On the Kaffir's ear the voice fell dull and distant; and yet he
immediately understood whence it came. Like himself, the Bushman was in
a living grave! That explained his neglect to render the long-desired
assistance.

"Lor', Swart! why I waiting for you," answered Congo, for the first time
since his imprisonment attempting a smile; "I don't want to go to the
camp and leave y