“By day and night, many; but most by night.  Our people will not venture forth in the darkness of the forest for fear of the wizards and the bad spirits that watch from behind the trees and follow stealthily; but a spell was given to Muata.  He could walk in the night.”

“Have you seen these—­eh—­spirits, Muata?” Muata put the question aside.  He rose and pointed to the east.

“The sun dies away and the hunters return.”

“I don’t hear them.  Where are they?” “The birds cry out and fly.  That is the sign that man is on the move; for hear, you who split up the shining boat, birds will scold at a leopard or a great snake, hovering around as they scold; but they fly from man.  From nothing else will they fly.  From an eagle they will hide after giving the warning call; but from man they fly.”

A few minutes later the two arrived, Mr. Hume carrying an antelope on his shoulder.

CHAPTER IX

A LION’S CHARGE

They turned in very early after banking up leaves over the fires under the biltong strips, to give them a good smoking during the night, but in the small hours, when the night is at its quietest, the moonlight, shining on Venning’s face, woke him.  The fires were glowing bright, altogether too bright for safety, and he rose to cover the glare with some green leaves.  He looked at his sleeping companions, for all, tired out by disturbed nights, slept on, except the jackal, which had one eye open.

Venning sat awhile looking down upon the dim uncertain shadows that came and went, as a fleecy mist-like cloud passed overhead.  Beyond the fitful murmur of the wind there was no sound but the hooting of a great homed owl somewhere from the woods above.  Drawing his blanket round him, and picking up his gun, he walked to a point on the right overlooking the bed of the little river, and there he sat down with his back to a rock and his gun over his knees.  Scarcely was he seated when the jackal startled him by its sudden appearance at his side.  He scratched its ears, and it sat close to him, staring fixedly down on the river.  Just below there was a stretch of sand in the bed gleaming white under the moonlight, and Venning watched this with the eye of a naturalist, in the hope of seeing some of the great forms of animal life.  And he had his hope, for several creatures crossed the white patch, and each time the jackal was the first to see them.  The round ears would suddenly prick forward, the sharp nose would twitch, and then Venning would dimly discover something down there in the uncertain light.  A porcupine he made out, its quills gleaming and rustling as it went down to the water; then a great wart-pig with curved tusks; and next, after a long interval, a fine buck with long powerful horns.  A water-buck he judged it to be from the length of its horns, and it stood there long with its face up-stream, motionless, save for the constant twitching of the large ears.  He rested his elbows on his knees as he sat and aimed at the shoulders, but did not fire, for fear of alarming the camp; and presently the buck, even as he watched, vanished as softly and silently as it came.  Then Venning’s eyes closed, his chin dropped, the gun settled between his knees, and he was asleep.