When the Englishman came, the other men, who knew he had been a medical
student, made way for him. He knelt down by Peter Halket.

"He's dead," he said, quietly.

When they had turned him over, the Colonial knelt down on the other side,
with a little hand-lamp in his hand.

"What are you fellows fooling about here for?" cried the Captain. "Do you
suppose it's any use looking for foot marks after all this tramping! Go,
guard the camp on all sides!"

"I will send four coloured boys," he said to the Englishman and the
Colonial, "to dig the grave. You'd better bury him at once; there's no use
waiting. We start first thing in the morning."

When they were alone, the Englishman uncovered Peter Halket's breast.
There was one small wound just under the left bosom; and one on the crown
of the head; which must have been made after he had fallen down.

"Strange, isn't it, what he can have been doing here?" said the Colonial;
"a small wound, isn't it?"

"A pistol shot," said the Englishman, closing the bosom.

"A pistol--"

The Englishman looked up at him with a keen light in his eye.