burning hot
to the touch; there is no inch of shade from the scorching sun, and she
has not tasted food or water for twenty hours. These things trouble the
Bushwoman not at all; they have always been a part of her existence, and
she cannot imagine a world without toil and heat, hunger and thirst.
Just now, too, she is somewhat comforted at the thought of a mighty
feast of meat in the not distant future. Sinikwe is lazy, and time
after time neglects to hunt game when Kwaneet--Kwaneet is often in her
mind--would have brought in good store of flesh. But Sinikwe, to give
him his due, is as good a hunter and spoorer as any in the wide
Kalahari, if the game is nigh and not far to seek. She knows that the
giraffe is as good as dead, that soon, for a few brief days, she may
revel in a gross plenty, and that her babe will be less petulant again.
In two hours Nakeesa has filled the tortoiseshell and returns to her
man.

Sinikwe, meanwhile, has been having an easy time, preparing a fresh
supply of snuff against his coming spooring operations and the feast
that is to follow. Out of the dead fire he has extracted some ash from
a particular sort of bush which he put in last night. This he works
down to the finest possible consistency. Taking from a leather pouch a
tiny piece of tobacco--the precious gift of a Lake trader--he cuts off a
piece, and in turn reduces that to fine dust by means of flat stones.
Then carefully mingling the ashes and the tobacco dust, and again
grinding them down together, his snuff is made. With this prized
commodity he can refresh his jaded senses upon a difficult spoor,
titillate his nerves after a big gorge of flesh, and purchase the
pleased glances of his wife when in his bounty he shall deign to bestow
a pinch or two upon her. Besides his snuff-making, an operation
demanding the gravest care, Sinikwe has sharpened up the blade of his
only spear, at once his weapon of defence, carver and skinning-knife, to
the haft of which he has fastened his skin cloak and a small calabash of
water in preparation for the journey before him. He has sharpened, too,
his primitive hatchet, used for chopping bones and extracting marrow.
That hatchet--the head of iron, the haft of rhinoceros horn--is
Sinikwe's most treasured possession. His father acquired it long since,
at infinite cost of feathers and ivory from the Bechuana who fashioned
it.

Presently Nakeesa comes in, and the roots--curious little smooth b