"Better get back into your hammock, Venning. You can go, boy; and
keep a good watch, for we are coming to the thieves' hour."

The man showed his white teeth in a grin as he withdrew.

"Don't stir from your hammocks until I do," said Mr. Hume, very
sternly, in a whisper; then louder, "Good night, Venning."

"Good night, sir," said Venning, convinced that the master was alive
to the game, and more easy in his mind.

As he dropped off to sleep he heard the wail of a jackal, and next
he was awakened by the sound of a native chanting. It was already
daybreak, and Mr. Hume stood on the verandah, having drawn the mats
aside.

The sun, striking under the thatch, shone on the hunter's tawny hair
and beard, and Venning wondered how for a moment he could have
doubted the courage of a man with such a lion-like head. But he was
to receive another shock.

"Silence, dog!" roared the hunter, addressing the singer, evidently.

Compton, who was sitting on his hammock dressing, looked out.

"By Jove," he muttered, "he's shouting at Muata!"

Venning jumped down to the floor and looked out. Muata was still
bound to the post, and, with his face to the sun, was chanting his