Dyke shouldered his gun, carried the speckled birds in a bunch by their legs, and walked away toward the edge of the forest patch, the dog looking back from time to time, and barking uneasily. But the master could not read the dog's warning; he attributed it to the guinea-fowl coming to roost, though black-faced lurkers, armed with assegais, were on the dog's trail till they were safely out of the forest, at whose edge the four Kaffirs paused to watch, while Dyke went on toward home. And now the dog forgot that which he had seen in the wood. The open veldt, with the kopje on their left, made him recall something else, and he began barking and trying to lead his master away beyond the ostrich-pens, Dyke understanding him well enough; but with his game in hand, and the purpose for which it was intended in mind, for a long time he refused to go. At last, though, he yielded to the dog's importunity, feeling sure that a portion of their stock must be in trouble, and that Duke had been watching it for some time past, till he heard the reports of the gun. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. DUKE'S FIND. Dyke had not far to go--the dog running on and looking back from time to time to see if it was followed, and then going on again. "He has found a snake, perhaps," thought Dyke, as he looked in every direction, but could see no sign of the bullocks. Duke went on. "Here! I want to get back with these birds, old fellow," cried Dyke at last. "Come along back." But the dog stood fast, and began to bark; then plunged in amongst some milk-bush, and barked louder than ever. "Well, I must see what he has found," thought Dyke, and just as it was getting dark, he ran on the hundred yards which separated him from the dog, and found him in a state of great excitement. "Now then, stupid, what is it?" cried Dyke. "I shan't go any farther, mind.--Why, hullo! old chap, what have you got? Why, they're lion cubs!" Sure enough they were; a pair of big, chubby, whimpering cubs, that in their heavy way resembled puppies more than creatures of the cat family. "Here, come away," cried Dyke, after kneeling down to examine the stupid-looking, tawny things, "We shall make the mother feel as fierce as can be, and there'll be no mercy for us then, old chap. But how in the world did they come to be here? Their mother must be prowling about the place, and--Oh, I see," he cried, as the light came. "It was their mother I shot, and the poor little creatures are starving. It would be a mercy to kill them." But the cubs whimpered and whined, and seemed so amiable, that Dyke felt as if he could not be merciful in that way. "Seems stupid," he muttered, "but I can't go murdering things without there's a good reason for it."