“That way would be the way of death,” answered the chief, slowly.  “It is bad here, but in the woods it is like the spray blown off from the rushing waters.  Every tree is a rain-cloud, every leaf drops water, and the air you breathe in the woods is wet.  If you would live, great one, you must stay here.  Wet when you sleep, when you eat, when you sit you sit in wet, when you stand the water runs off; wet, all wet in the rains down in the woods.”

“Ugh!” said Venning, with a shudder; and Compton put on another stick.

“We will see,” said the Hunter.

They sat in silence, pondering over this new source of worry, then turned in to sleep.  They slept heavily, having taken great care first of all to block up the entrance to the underground passage, and as they dropped off to sleep, they heard the women chanting still in the village below.  The fire glowed red in the entrance, making the roof look like beaten gold, but the air blew chill, and the sleepers were restless.  A hand would reach out to the firewood for another log, or to tuck the blankets under the body, so that the cold could not sift under.

The jackal was as weary as the rest.  Several times he ran to the entrance to look out with pricked ears, then back again to stare into a sleepy face; but as his human companions gradually sank into heavy sleep, he crouched on the floor with his sharp nose resting between his forepaws, the one sound, the other bandaged.

CHAPTER XXV

THE CRY IN THE NIGHT

As the fire-sticks snapped under the heat, the jackal would open his yellow eyes and start back with his gaze fixed inquiringly on the fire, whose mystery he could never solve.  One of these starts roused Venning, who, seeing the cause, threw out a hand and drew the animal to him.  He felt nervous, and the company of the jackal comforted him, and the jackal in its turn forgot its uneasiness in the warmth of the blankets.  With a little sigh it curled up and went to sleep.

The boy was the only one awake, and out in the wide space beyond he heard a voice calling—­

“Ngonyama’”

He held his breath, and his throat grew very dry, for it was the voice he had heard in the cavern, only sad this time, and not mocking as before.

“Ngonyama!—­yama!” It came thin and melancholy, with a long lingering on the last syllables.

He put his hand out to rouse Mr. Hume, then drew it back ashamed of his fancies; but the movement awoke the jackal.  It lifted its head, snuffed the air, then sprang up with the ruff on its neck erect, and its sharp white teeth gleaming.  Several moments it stood so, then with many a look out, curled itself up again.

Venning had watched it breathlessly, now he patted it to sleep, and dozed off himself, only to wake up in a violent tremble, with that sound quivering plaintively in the air—­