here I know not
what instinct of dread and repulsion came upon me as we drew near the
place, moving me to glance over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of the
face of my companion, possibly with the intent to ascertain whether the
same idea was moving her. But as I did so a sudden and violent start on
the part of my horse came near unseating me. Shying, snorting, the
brute swerved and backed; and coming thus into collision with Beryl's
steed it took both of us some moments to soothe and quiet the animals.
But in that brief flash of time I had caught a glimpse of a Something
lying on the ground, and my heart stood still within me and every drop
of blood in my system seemed to turn to water.

There was no mistaking the nature of that Something. The inanimate
human form is possessed of an eloquence all its own. Dark upon the
shimmer of the moonlit earth this one lay, the white face staring upward
to the sky, the face of poor little George Matterson. And the same
instinctive conviction flashed through us both as we slid from our
saddles, that it was a dead face.

Never, if I were to live a thousand years, could I forget the whirl of
rage and horror and grief that convulsed me at that moment, turning me
half-dazed. Beryl was beside the prostrate form, bending over it. No
cry had escaped her, only a quick, half-stifled gasp. In a moment I was
beside her, having taken the precaution to secure both our horses.

"Dead!" she uttered, having raised the head, with infinite tenderness of
touch. "Dead. Murdered!"

I don't know which feeling was uppermost within my mind at that moment--
horror at the discovery, or awe of the strange, unnatural calmness
wherewith she accepted the frightful and heartrending situation. I bent
down over the poor remains. A noosed _reim_ had been twisted round the
neck, compressing it tightly. Not this, however, had been the cause of
death. The grass around and beneath the body glistened with a dark wet
stain. On the dead boy's clothing above the heart was a clean cut from
which blood was still welling. He had been stabbed--stabbed with an
assegai.

We stood staring into each other's faces, ashy white in the moonlight.
It seemed as if our lips refused to frame the question that was in both
our minds. Then, speaking in a harsh, gasping whisper, Beryl said--

"What of--father?"

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

"WALK, KULISO!"

"Two lives were taken, and these are two lives."

The words