"Oh, we two have been turning that over, sir, and we both think the same thing. The black brutes have been on the hunt after us ever since we got away, and now that they have caught us they are taking us back to our old camp." "What makes you think that?" said Dean. "Those two sugar-loaf kopjes that lie right out yonder," said Buck, giving his head a wag to indicate the clumps of rock that he alluded to. "But those look like the kopjes that we could see from the big wall beyond the waggons." "That's right, sir," said Buck. "They were a good way off, because the air is so clear here. But that's the way we are going, and sooner or later we shall be there." "What is it? Feel faint?" said Dean, for his cousin shuddered. "No," was the half whispered reply. "I can't bear to think of it. It means so much, Dean." "Then don't think," said Dean. "What's the good. What's gone by can't be altered now." "You don't understand me," said Mark passionately. "The past is bad enough. It is what we have to face when we get there." "You mean--" began Dean sadly, and then he stopped. Mark was gazing at him wildly, and Dean seemed to read now fully what his cousin meant. "Oh, don't think that," he said at last, in a choking voice. "These blacks are savage enough, but as Buck said, if they meant to kill us they would have speared us before now." "Yes," said Mark, "and I daresay he's right; but I was thinking of what happened during that horrible fight in the darkness." "Ah-h-h!" sighed Dean softly; and no more was said. Later on the blacks brought their prisoners half cooked food from their fire, which was scarcely touched, and water from the spring by which they were camped for the night; and of this they drank with avidity. Then came the soft darkness, with the light of the great stars seeming to the boys to gaze pityingly down upon them; and then as the eager chattering of their captors ceased, the great silence of the forest fell upon them, bringing with it the sweet reward of the utterly wearied out. Twice over in the night Mark, however, awoke with a start, the first time to listen to the deep barking roar of a lion which approached the prisoner, but without bringing any sense of dread. It was a familiar sound to him, that was all; and as at intervals it came nearer and nearer and the thought occurred to the boy that the savage beast might be waiting to make a spring, it did not trouble him in the least. The position was curious, that was all; and the last time he heard the beast's roar Mark found himself wondering what it would feel like to be suddenly snatched away, and he was still wondering, when all grew utterly still and lonely and then he started, knowing he had been asleep, but quite convinced that something had crawled close up to him and had lightly drawn its paw across his breast.