There was very little to vary the monotony of their life. A lion came one night, but did not molest horse or bullock. They had visits, too, from the jackals, but Tanta Sal was right--Jack came no more, and they saw nothing of the Kaffirs who had been his companions, though Dyke found a rough hut and traces of a fire in the patch of forest close to where he went to shoot the guinea-fowl, showing that he must often have been pretty near the Kaffirs' hiding-place. In fact, Jack had had a very severe peppering, and felt not the slightest inclination to risk receiving another. The subject of giving up Kopfontein was often discussed, but even if it were done, it seemed evident that many months must elapse before Emson would be fit to travel; so the subject was talked of less often, though one thing was evident both to Dyke and his brother--their scheme of ostrich-farming had completely broken down, and unless a bold attempt were made to start afresh, they would gradually become poorer and poorer, for alone, all Dyke's efforts to collect valuable skins were disposed to be rather unfruitful, try hard as he would. Months had passed, and they had had no more black visitors, but one day Tanta Sal rushed into the house where the brothers were seated at dinner, with such a look of excitement upon her features, that Dyke sprang up, seized one of the guns and handed another to his brother, who stood up, looking weak, but determined to help if danger were at hand. But Tanta gesticulated, pushed the guns away, and signed to Dyke to follow. The cause of the woman's excitement was evident directly, for there, a mile away, was a wagon drawn by a long team of oxen, and it was evident that they were to have visitors at the farm. "Some poor wretch going up in the wilds to seek his fortune," said Emson rather sadly. "I wish him better luck than ours, young un." "Oh, I say, Joe, don't talk in that doleful way," cried Dyke excitedly. "This is so jolly. It's like being Robinson Crusoe and seeing a sail. Here, wait while I fetch the glass." Dyke returned the next minute with his hands trembling so that he could hardly focus and steady the "optic tube." Then he shouted in his excitement, and handed the telescope to his brother. "Why, it's that fat old Dutchman, Morgenstern! Who'd have thought of seeing him?" Sure enough it was the old trader, seated like the Great Mogul in the old woodcuts. He was upon the wagon-box, holding up an enormously long whip, and two black servants were with him--one at the head of the long team of twelve oxen, the other about the middle of the double line of six, as the heavy wagon came slowly along, the bullocks seeming to crawl. "I am glad," cried Dyke. "I say, Joe, see his great whip? He looked in the glass as if he were fishing." "Tant make fine big cake--kettle boil--biltong tea?" asked the Kaffir woman hospitably.