thing after your ride," said Thornhill,
as a couple of boys came up to take the horses.

They were all very jolly and merry, chatting and making plans for the
day. Suddenly a tall figure appeared at the foot of the steps of the
stoep. The sight of it brought a queer look, though a momentary one to
Elvesdon's face.

"Oh, you've still got that chap, Thornhill," he said carelessly.

"Yes. I find him useful, and at times, rather interesting. I'll just
go out and see what he wants."

What Manamandhla wanted was this. The _Amakosi_, he perceived, were
about to have a hunt. Might not he come too, and help drive out the
bush? He loved to see a hunt, and could make himself of use.

Thornhill's thoughts on hearing this request were known to himself and
his Maker--incidentally, they may have been more than guessed at by the
Zulu--as he answered equably that the other could do so if he wished.
He was thinking how easy it was to mistake a man for a buck in thick
bush--and that a charge of Treble A at close quarters--And the laughter
and joking of those within came loud through the open windows; for
tragedy and mirth, are they not always more or less closely allied, and
running on parallel rails?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I say, Miss Thornhill, do let me carry your gun for you," said Prior,
eagerly, as he ranged his horse alongside. This was a new experience to
him. He had never seen a girl taking part in a hunt before, though of
course he had heard of this one doing so.

"Thanks, Mr Prior, but there's no necessity. Would you like to hold it
for me while I shoot? I am even capable of turning a door-handle for
myself at a pinch."

Elvesdon smiled, and Thornhill chuckled. Evelyn Carden did neither.
She was fond of being waltzed around, and generally thurificated.

Poor Prior dropped back snubbed. Five was an awkward number and the
track was narrow. He remembered too that he had come very near `riding
out' his chief. But the latter seemed not in any way perturbed.

Down the valley their way ran. At length they came to a neck,
overlooking a downward sweep of dense bush, intersected by a dry
watercourse. The dogs, all of a quiver with suppressed excitement,
squirmed and whined, yet ever in wholesome dread of their master's whip.
Thornhill proceeded to dispose the guns.

"Elvesdon, you go to the very bottom of the kloof--see, where those two
tree ferns stand,"