me ducks for
supper. A roaring fire was lighted, and enough wood got together to
keep it up. All night long the lions were heard roaring, the cry of the
jackals and hyenas showed that they too were very numerous, and several
large snakes, one of them more than eight feet long, came within the
light of the fire. The bush swarmed with monkeys, and when the moon
rose, silvering the river with her light two lions were seen to cross
the open. Still there were no tidings of the missing Noti. The three
men watched by turns all night in the canoe, one of them landing from
time to time to keep up the fire. Wyzinski's Australian bush cry rang
out at times on the still air of the African night. It was since the
affair of the lioness of Zoutpansburgh perfectly well-known to all in
camp, but no responsive shout came back, though the night was so still
that the watchers often thought they could distinguish the roar of the
far distant surf. Morning dawned on the anxious men, the birds woke up
and began skimming about, the ducks sailed out from among the reeds and
water-lilies, and still no signs of Noti.

"I fear we have lost one of our number," observed the missionary, as he
let fly into a flock of duck, knocking over four. "Let us ask Masheesh
to pluck and cook those, and you and I go in search of poor Noti."

"Agreed," replied the soldier, who was standing in the water of a small
pool, having a good wash. A loud cry from Masheesh, who had just
secured the fourth duck, was heard, when a figure was seen staggering
out of the wood, into the open. It was Noti, who came on, his gun
raised above his head, reeling like a drunken man, and before he had
traversed half the space, falling heavily on his face to the ground.

Rising, the black stumbled forward a few paces and again fell heavily.
Lifting him gently, the three carried the poor fellow to the canoe,
placed him in it, washed the clotted gore from his face, breast, and
left side, covering him with branches.

Attracted by the blood, the flow of which it was impossible to stop, the
flies came round in myriads, and it was deemed best to paddle down the
river, Masheesh tending the dying man, for such he evidently was.

An hour afterwards, Noti was no more; but just before he breathed his
last, consciousness returned, and he was able to tell his tale.

He had lost his way following the caracal, had wandered about he knew
not where. Had heard the shots fired at the lions,