"I know what I shall do," said Dean, as they prepared for their morning start, during which he had been thoughtfully watching the helpful way in which their new attendant loaded the ponies, over which he seemed to have the most perfect command. "Well, what shall you do?" said his cousin. "Learn that whistle, and manage the ponies myself." "Humph!" grunted Mark. "That will be no good as long as that dreary fellow is near them." "I say," said Dean, as he and his cousin were tramping along in the rear, gazing eagerly about to the right and left of the track, thoroughly enjoying the beauty of the scenery, and looking out the while for something that might be a pleasant addition to their next meal. "Well, what do you say? That you don't see any game?" "No," said Dean. "I want you to look at black Mak." "Well, what of him? I think he's as dingy black a nigger as ever I saw. Not a bit like those flat-nosed woolly-headed fellows that we used to see at home." "I don't mean that." "What do you mean, then?" said Mark impatiently. "That he seems so sour and surly, as different as can be from what he was yesterday. We didn't do anything to give him offence. Let's see; what did we do yesterday and the day before to hurt his feelings?" "I don't know," said Mark. "I did nothing. What did you do?" "Nothing," replied Dean. "He was as jolly and smiling as could be till last night; and see how he helped about the scare. Now, I tell you what I think." "Oh, I wish you wouldn't think so much," cried Mark. "It makes you seem so slow and sleepy! Well, what do you think?" "I think he is jealous of the new man." "Right. He doesn't like the look of him--thinks he's a bad colour, neither black nor white. You are right, Dean. I saw him scowling at him, now you mention it. Well, we shall have to look out and tell Buck Denham that there must be no quarrelling. If they don't agree he must take them both by the scruff and knock their heads together." "Oh, but that will all blow over," said Dean, "I daresay. There's nothing for them to disagree over, because this Brown will have his own work to do." "And black Mak has nothing to do but look on," put in Mark, laughing. "You forget one thing," said Dean; "he has to carry his spear." "Yes, spear," said Mark eagerly; "and that sets one thinking. That spear is precious sharp." "How do you know?" "He showed it to me, and seemed as proud of it as could be." "Well, what then?" "Why, it would be very nasty if they quarrelled and came to a fight. What chance would Mr Staches have, only armed with a small pair of scissors?"