had been a wildebeeste slain; and
it was so evident that, if steps were not taken to save it, the vultures
would destroy the provisions of three or four days, that Mr Rogers
rapidly blew twice upon his whistle--a preconcerted signal, which made
the boys turn and go towards the game.

As it was, a vulture would have reached the fallen animal before them
but for a shot from Dick's gun, which had the effect of more than
scaring it as it was just alighting, for, evidently hit by the bullet,
it flew a few yards, and then fell, flapping its wings for a few
moments, and then lay still.

This checked the others for the time, and Mr Rogers waited till the
General should set the boys at liberty, when he meant to return to the
waggon.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

GETTING INTO WORK.

It seemed some little time before the Zulu appeared at the bottom of the
slope; but when he emerged from the woods, Mr Rogers could see that he
had been cutting some sticks, and on bringing the glass to bear he made
out that the Zulu was straightening them as he ran.

The boys saw him coming, and waved their caps; while, when the General
joined them, they all bent over the game together, the Zulu apparently
being very busy, and making Mr Rogers impatient, for he wanted to get
back to breakfast, which must then be ready.

"There is some reason for it, I dare say," said Mr Rogers, gazing
through his glass. "Why, they are all coming away! The animal will be
devoured. It is bad, perhaps."

He waited patiently, seeing the little party return; and as they left
the fallen gnu he saw the vultures come dropping down from the trees
where they had been waiting, till there were over twenty by the game,
round which they formed a circle, but they did not approach near.

"Strange!" thought Mr Rogers. "I wonder they don't tear it up.
Perhaps it is still alive. If so they ought to have put the poor thing
out of its misery. I shall speak sharply to Master Dick about such
wanton cruelty."

Mr Rogers wanted his breakfast, and, as he had had no excitement, he
felt cross, so that it seemed as if the boys would get what Jack
irreverently called a wigging. But the sight of his sons' bright
excited faces as they ran up the slope, drove away his ill-humour.

"Why, Dick!" he cried, "how you run!"

"Do I, father?" cried the boy, excitedly, "But did you see what a
splendid shot Jack made? I missed twice, but he brought his gnu down.
It's a fine young bull."

"Th