of
darker and more sinister import. Such are denied by them with laughter,
as too utterly absurd for existence, but they do exist for all that, and
the confiding European is lulled completely, thrown off the scent. And
now, putting four and four together, I wondered whether it was not
somewhere in this direction that I must search for Ukozi's motive.

As for the Major's craze, that didn't trouble me overmuch, if only that
I remembered that old gentlemen of the retired Anglo-Indian persuasion
were prone to take up fads, from the Lost Ten Tribes craze to Plymouth
Brethrenism. He had been struck by Ukozi's profession of occultism, and
probably hipped by the isolation of his own surroundings, had thrown
himself into it. I--and Falkner--would soon put that right, on our
return.

And yet, and yet--as I again took up Aida Sewin's letter in search it
might be of a further sidelight, the very real note of concern, not to
say alarm, which I read into it impressed me. It was as though I heard
a cry from her to hasten to her assistance. Well, I would do so. As I
have said, my trade with Majendwa's people had suddenly and
unaccountably broken down, but I had acquired quite a respectable lot of
cattle, all in excellent condition. I would have them all brought in on
the morrow and trek the next day for home. And having come to this
conclusion I heard the tramp of a horse outside, and Falkner's voice
lifted up in a resounding hail, which had the effect of setting all the
curs in the big kraal adjoining, on the stampede in such a fashion as to
remind me of Falkner's sprinting match on the first night of our
arrival.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

FALKNER SHOWS HIS HAND--AND HIS TEETH.

I put the letter into my pocket, flung on a mackintosh and dived outside
again. The rain was still coming down in a steady pour, and the cloud
of vapour rising from the horse's heaving flanks steamed up redly
against the firelight. Falkner was in high spirits. A reebok was tied
behind his saddle and Jan Boom was carrying the carcase of a
klipspringer, and a few unconsidered trifles in the way of partridges.

"You haven't been out for nothing?" I said, glancing at the spoil.

"Rather not. I've had a ripping day of it, but--trot out the grog, old
man. Phew! it's cold. For the last hour I've hardly been able to feel
my feet in the stirrups."

"Likely. Here, you'd better tumble into the waggon and get into dry
togs. Then we'll have scoff.