the cat,
after it had been dead a week or so, and carried it back to camp,
and laid it just inside the tent-flaps, where it could best make
its presence known when the mates should rise and begin to sniff
suspiciously in the sickly smothering atmosphere of the summer sunrise.
He used to retrieve them when they went in swimming; he'd jump in after
them, and take their hands in his mouth, and try to swim out with them,
and scratch their naked bodies with his paws. They loved him for his
good-heartedness and his foolishness, but when they wished to enjoy a
swim they had to tie him up in camp.

He watched Andy with great interest all the morning making the
cartridge, and hindered him considerably, trying to help; but about noon
he went off to the claim to see how Dave and Jim were getting on, and to
come home to dinner with them. Andy saw them coming, and put a panful of
mutton-chops on the fire. Andy was cook to-day; Dave and Jim stood with
their backs to the fire, as Bushmen do in all weathers, waiting till
dinner should be ready. The retriever went nosing round after something
he seemed to have missed.

Andy's brain still worked on the cartridge; his eye was caught by the
glare of an empty kerosene-tin lying in the bushes, and it struck him
that it wouldn't be a bad idea to sink the cartridge packed with clay,
sand, or stones in the tin, to increase the force of the explosion. He
may have been all out, from a scientific point of view, but the notion
looked all right to him. Jim Bently, by the way, wasn't interested in
their 'damned silliness'. Andy noticed an empty treacle-tin--the
sort with the little tin neck or spout soldered on to the top for the
convenience of pouring out the treacle--and it struck him that this
would have made the best kind of cartridge-case: he would only have had
to pour in the powder, stick the fuse in through the neck, and cork and
seal it with bees'-wax. He was turning to suggest this to Dave, when
Dave glanced over his shoulder to see how the chops were doing--and
bolted. He explained afterwards that he thought he heard the pan
spluttering extra, and looked to see if the chops were burning. Jim
Bently looked behind and bolted after Dave. Andy stood stock-still,
staring after them.

'Run, Andy! run!' they shouted back at him. 'Run!!! Look behind you, you
fool!' Andy turned slowly and looked, and there, close behind him, was
the retriever with the cartridge in his mouth--wedged into his broa