afield in search of food; tearing to pieces
the poor mongrel puppy that had been unwise enough to follow them; and
even ransacking our tent during the few hours we had left it without a
guard. The troop was a large one, and included some of the biggest
baboons I had ever seen; but though daring at times, they were
exceedingly wary, and amidst the labyrinth of broken country which at
the spot hemmed in the Orange River they had hitherto evaded our
attempts at retaliation. And now by sheer luck we had stumbled upon
them. Jason and I, following up some copper indications amongst the
mountain peaks, had turned an abrupt corner and found ourselves within
a hundred yards of their big leader a huge grey monster that stood
sentinel-wise upon a high rock watching us. The tiny black head of my
foresight showed plainly against the wide grey chest of the big brute;
I pressed the trigger; and the soft-nosed "303 sped true to the mark.
The long hairy arms were flung aloft in a gesture too human to be
pleasant, and with a spasmodic spring in the air the baboon fell head-
long from the rock, whilst at the report the whole troop, with a chorus
of angry, sharp, staccato barks, fled round the shoulder of the
mountain and disappeared.

"I hate shooting them," I said, turning to Jason for the first time
since we had sighted them; "they're too human altogether, still Hullo,
Jason, what's the matter?"

Jason's usually calm, inscrutable face was absolutely convulsed with
strong feeling: fear, hatred, loathing what was it? He started as
though from a dream.

"God! How I hate them!" he muttered hoarsely. "It was not far from
here."

He shouldered his rifle and turned back abruptly towards the camp. I
did not attempt to stop him; for though the staunchest friend and
comrade, he was of a peculiar disposition; and I knew that he would, if
he wanted to do so, tell me his story when the mood suited him. I
walked over to the fallen baboon, which lay dead, grim, and hideous,
with its chest shattered by my bullet and its formidable fangs bared in
a ghastly grin.

That night by the camp-fire, Jason, who had scarcely uttered a syllable
in the meanwhile, told me his weird story; but let him tell it in his
own words.

"The first chapter of my story began twenty years ago. I had just
returned from a shooting and trading trip in Damaraland which had ended
in a stiff bout of fever, and was kicking my heels in Cape Town, when
one day I received a note