suppose? I'll go and have a look."

Having climbed the bank of the _nullah_, he was about to proceed in the
direction whence the cry had come, when he became aware of the most
extraordinary figure he had ever seen in his life approaching him. The
appearance Hayle had presented when he had turned up at the Ford two
months before was nothing compared with that of this individual. He was
a small man, not more than five feet in height. His clothes were in
rags, a grizzly beard grew in patches upon his cheeks and chin, while
his hair reached nearly to his shoulders. His face was pinched until it
looked more like that of a skeleton than a man. Grantham stood and
stared at him, scarcely able to believe his eyes.

"Good Heavens," he said to himself, "what a figure! I wonder where the
beggar hails from?" Then addressing the man, he continued, "Are you an
Englishman, or what are you?"

The man before him, however, did not reply. He placed his finger on his
lips, and turning, pointed in the direction he had come.

"Either he doesn't understand, or he's dumb," said Grantham. "But it's
quite certain that he wants me to follow him somewhere."

Turning to the man again, he signed to him to proceed, whereupon the
little fellow hobbled painfully away from the _nullah_ in the direction
whence he had appeared. On and on he went until he at length came to a
standstill at the foot of a hill, where a little stream came splashing
down in a miniature cascade from the rocks above. Then Grantham realized
the meaning of the little man's action. Stretched out beside a rock was
the tall figure of a man. Like his companion, he presented a miserable