Nothing of note happened and we trekked on unmolested in any way, travelling slow, for the trade cattle were fat and in excellent condition, which of course I didn't want to spoil. Then befel an incident which was destined to give us trouble with a vengeance. We had got into sparsely inhabited country now, and were nearing the border. One afternoon Falkner and I had struck off from the track a little to shoot a few birds for the pot--by the way Falkner had in some degree condescended to relax his sulks, being presumably tired of his own company. We had rejoined the track and had just put our horses into a canter to overtake the waggons when Falkner threw a glance over his shoulder and said: "What sort of beast is that?" I turned and looked back. It was a dark afternoon and inclining moreover to dusk, but I could make out something white glinting through the bush, rather behind us, but as if running parallel to our way. The bush grew in patches, and the thing would be alternately hidden or in the open again. "Here goes for a shot, anyway," said Falkner, slipping from his horse. He carried a rifle and smooth-bore combination gun, and before I could prevent him or perhaps because I tried to, he had loosed off a bullet at the strange beast. A splash of dust, a good deal short of the mark, leaped up where it struck. "The line was good but not the distance," he grumbled. "I'll get him this time," slipping in a fresh cartridge. "Much better not," I urged. "We don't want to get into any more bother with the people by shooting their dogs." He made no answer, and I was glad that the bush thickened where the animal had now disappeared. "Let's get on," I said. "It's nearly dark." He mounted and we had just resumed our way, when not twenty yards distant, the creature came bounding forth, frightening our horses by the suddenness of his appearance. There was nothing hostile, however, in his attitude. He was wagging his tail, and squirming and whimpering in delight, as a dog will do when he has found a long-lost master, or at best a well-known friend. I stared, hardly able to believe my own eyesight. The large, wolf-like form, the bushy tail--why there could be no duplicate of this ever whelped at a Zulu kraal, that was certain. "Arlo," I cried. "Arlo, old chap. What are you doing in these parts, eh?" The dog whined with delight, squirming up to us, his brush going like a flail. In a moment we were both off our horses. "It's Arlo right enough," said Falkner, patting the dog, who never ceased whimpering and licking his hands. "The question is how did he get here? Eh?" "Stolen most likely, but it couldn't have been long ago, for Miss Sewin made no mention of his loss in her letter to me--and it's hardly likely she'd have forgotten to mention such an important event if it had happened then."