on to the opposite bank.

Jack Meredith bowed gravely, and the other sportsman, seeing the
absurdity of the situation, burst into hearty laughter. In a moment or
two he had leapt from rock to rock and come to Meredith.

"It seems," he said, "that we have been wasting a considerable amount of
time."

"I very nearly wasted powder and shot," replied Jack, significantly
indicating his rifle.

"I saw you twice, and raised my rifle; your breeches are just the colour
of a young doe. Are you Meredith? My name is Oscard."

"Ah! Yes, I am Meredith. I am glad to see you."

They shook hands. There was a twinkle in Jack Meredith's eyes, but
Oscard was quite grave. His sense of humour was not very keen, and he
was before all things a sportsman.

"I left the canoes a mile below Msala, and landed to shoot a deer we
saw drinking, but I never saw him. Then I heard you, and I have been
stalking you ever since."

"But I never expected you so soon; you were not due till--look!" Jack
whispered suddenly.

Oscard turned on his heel, and the next instant their two rifles rang
out through the forest stillness in one sharp crack. Across the stream,
ten yards behind the spot where Oscard had emerged from the bush, a
leopard sprang into the air, five feet from the ground, with head thrown
back, and paws clawing at the thinness of space with grand free sweeps.
The beast fell with a thud, and lay still--dead.

The two men clambered across the rocks again, side by side. While they
stood over the prostrate form of the leopard--beautiful, incomparably
graceful and sleek even in death--Guy Oscard stole a sidelong glance at
his companion. He was a modest man, and yet he knew that he was reckoned
among the big-game hunters of the age. This man had fired as quickly as
himself, and there were two small trickling holes in the animal's head.

While he was being quietly scrutinised Jack Meredith stooped down, and,
taking the leopard beneath the shoulders, lifted it bodily back from the
pool of blood.

"Pity to spoil the skin," he explained, as he put a fresh cartridge into
his rifle.

Oscard nodded in an approving way. He knew the weight of a full-grown
male leopard, all muscle and bone, and he was one of those old-fashioned
persons mentioned in the Scriptures as taking a delight in a man's
legs--or his arms, so long as they were strong.

"I suppose," he said quietly, "we had better skin him here."

As he spoke he drew a long hunting-knife, a