There was an answer from much nearer. "Oh, I wonder how many he has found!" In less than a minute the boy's wondering ceased, for he caught sight of their tall thin follower running swiftly through the low brush, with all four ponies cantering after him, to pull up in a group as the man stopped short close to where the keeper and the two lads were waiting. "Not hurt, Dunn?" cried Mark joyously. "No," said the man sadly. "Anybody killed?" "No. Don't cry about it," cried Mark. "But Peter Dance is hurt," said Dean sharply. "Oh," said the man, almost piteously, and then shook his head, looking from one to the other mournfully. "Let the fire out." Big Buck Denham bent down to slap his thighs and burst into a roar of laughter. "Oh, don't laugh, Buck," cried Mark. "Think of your poor bullocks." "Yes," said Dunn, in no way discomposed by the man's laughter; "two killed." "Well, arn't that enough to make a fellow laugh?" said Buck. "Only two pulled down. Might have been worse. You have seen them, then?" "Yes; they followed the ponies. Just came by." "That's all right, then. Come and help, Dunn. I want to inspan and take one of the waggons to fetch Peter Dance." "Ah!" said Dunn, and he shook his head. "Let the fire out." "Well, don't go howling about it and get the poor fellow into trouble." "No?" sighed Buck's amateur foreloper. "No!" thundered Buck. "And there's worse disasters at sea. Bad jobs turn out trumps sometimes, young gen'lemen. Two bullocks pulled down, and when we have got Peter Dance back to camp, gentlemen, I daresay you would like to come along of me to have a look at the dead lions. I say, Dunn, can you skin a lion?" "Yes," said the man, and he pulled a long knife out of its sheath and tried its edge. "Yes, that will do. I'll help you, mate. We will get little Dan at work to cut up the bullocks; but I'm rather scared about their skins." "Then why cut the poor things up?" said Mark sharply. "Why cut them up, sir?" replied the big driver, staring at the boy wonderingly. "Best bits--beef." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. A DEED OF MERCY. "Come, I call this good luck," cried the big driver, as, following the black foreloper and with the Hottentot behind, the long line of bullocks two and two came placidly into sight, looking none the worse for the night attack, and in no wise troubled for the loss of two of their brethren. "Luck!" cried Mark. "It's glorious! I shall be glad when father knows." "Ah, we will soon let him know," said Buck good-humouredly; "leastways, as soon as I can; but it takes longer to inspan than it does to fill one's pipe. But poor old Peter won't hurt much. He's a bit sore, of course. A span of bullocks arn't a nice thing to dance over a fellow, even if he is by natur' like a bit of Indy-rubber. I say--now you listen."