“Not till I have got thee a kaross of jackal's fur.” “I'll never wear it!” said Phoebe violently, to divert him from his purpose. “Time will show,” said Dick dryly. “These varmint are on and off like shadows, and as cunning as Old Nick. We two will walk on quite unconcerned like, and as soon as ever the varmint are at our heels you give us the office; and we'll pepper their fur--won't we, doctor?” “We--will--pepper--their fur,” said Christopher, repeating what to him was a lesson in the ancient and venerable English tongue. So they walked on expectant; and by and by the four-footed shadows with large lime-light eyes came stealing on; and Phoebe shrieked, and they vanished before the men could draw a bead on them. “Thou's no use at this work, Pheeb,” said Dick. “Shut thy eyes, and let us have Yuke.” “Iss, master: here I be.” “You can bleat like a lamb; for I've heard ye.” “Iss, master. I bleats beautiful;” and she showed snowy teeth from ear to ear. “Well, then, when the varmint are at our heels, draw in thy woolly head, and bleat like a young lamb. They won't turn from that, I know, the vagabonds.” Matters being thus prepared, they sauntered on; but the jackals were very wary. They came like shadows, so departed--a great many times: but at last being re-enforced, they lessened the distance, and got so close, that Ucatella withdrew her head, and bleated faintly inside the wagon. The men turned, levelling their rifles, and found the troop within twenty yards of them. They wheeled directly: but the four barrels poured their flame, four loud reports startled the night, and one jackal lay dead as a stone, another limped behind the flying crowd, and one lay kicking. He was soon despatched, and both carcasses flung over the patient oxen; and good-by jackals for the rest of that journey. Ucatella, with all a Kafir's love of fire-arms, clapped her hands with delight. “My child shoots loud and strong,” said she. “Ay, ay,” replied Phoebe; “they are all alike; wherever there's men, look for quarrelling and firing off. We had only to sit quiet in the wagon.” “Ay.” said Dick, “the cattle especially--for it is them the varmint were after--and let 'em eat my Hottentots.” At this picture of the cattle inside the wagon, and the jackals supping on cold Hottentot alongside, Phoebe, who had no more humor than a cat, but a heart of gold, shut up, and turned red with confusion at her false estimate of the recent transaction in fur.